One Night Alone
by Layne Faire
Summary: A Kiss, Three Years, One Night  Three years had passed since Edward rejected me. But tonight he was going to be mine, one way or another. He wanted me, I know he did.
1. Prologue

_**Alrighty, so here it is – my first multi-chapter slash fanfiction. EEEEKKKK! This has sat in a folder for months, ever since I adopted the banner from FrozenSoldier in February (link on profile to banner). From there, my love of hair bands and 80s Arena Rock took over. **_

_**Stephenie Meyer owns it all, I just like to put pretty boys together and see what they do when the attraction becomes too much.  
><strong>_

_**This is SLASH, that means boys playing with boys, and I ain't talking Monday night football (but I do like the tight pants). If you aren't old enough to vote, hit that little red X and live with the illusion that the Jonas Brothers might be quality music (NOT). **_

_**My eternal love and thanks to nails233, butterflybetty, KM525, rathbonejunkie, Touchstone67, and Mrs. Agget. **_

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><p><strong>PROLOGUE<strong>

**o..o.o**

Standing in the shadows, I heard the crowd screaming and chanting. My hands gripped the railing. The last time I stood here, I'd been nothing, no one, just another kid with dreams too big for the life he'd been dealt. I couldn't believe three years had passed. It seemed like only yesterday; and yet forever, at the same time. Looking around, I saw a lot had changed in those years, but nothing so much as I had.

I barely acknowledged Jared and the other guys while they prepared to take the stage. The house lights dimmed; the crowd roared in approval. Slapping me on the back, they moved up to their instruments. The studio found them, just like they'd found me. Five guys they'd pegged a Renaissance on, and it had paid off for them, in spades.

Closing my eyes, I took a steadying breath. I knew I could do this. The nerves never seemed to leave, though. They hovered in the recesses of my mind, daring me to fuck up, daring me to make the wrong move at the wrong time. Sweat pooled in the small of my back, cooled by the fans blowing full blast in a fruitless attempt to combat the lights and pyrotechnics that made up our stage show.

I'd slung my guitar onto my back; it bumped against my ass while I drew another deep breath to steady my racing heart. Dropping into a deep knee bend, the leather pants tightened across my thighs. I stood and opened my eyes, kissing the guitar pick I wore around my neck. Walking up the six steps in front of me, I moved to the edge of the curtains that hid the side of the stage. Emmett counted off the beat with his sticks, cueing the cacophony of the opening riffs from our current single. The music erupted from the stacks of amplifiers and speakers I stood behind. Lights blazed and the shadows surrounding me were suddenly gone, washed in the pulsating flashes of color that blazed through the amphitheater.

Pulling my guitar around, I waited for my intro. Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw him. He hovered in the same corner I once did, all those years ago. The sound man cackled in my ear, letting me know my mike had gone live, and with a smirk, I hit the stage. This was my night, my time. He'd have to wait, just like I'd waited then, one night, three years ago, when a kiss changed everything.

**o..o.o**

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><p><em><strong>I also have a story entered in the Writer's Coffee Shop's Romance Contest for original fiction. It's the only slash story entered. We were limited on what we could post, so there is still a lot to be seen. I would be eternally grateful if you would check it out, and possibly read, review, and vote for it when voting opens in the Supernatural category on August 18<strong>__**th**__**. Information and links are on my profile.**_

_**So, back to One Night Alone - I have a couple chapters done, which I'm cleaning up for your reading pleasure. For now, I'd say updates will run every two weeks, (the best laid plans…). But first, I need to find out if anyone is actually interested in reading it. **_

_**Love it? Hate it? Let me know what you think. **_


	2. Chapter 1

_**WOW! I was completely floored by the response to the prologue! Y'all make my heart smile! My plan had been to get this to you all on Thursday. However, Mother Nature laughed at my plans, sending an earthquake, three major thunderstorms, and a hurricane to visit me, resulting in several days with power problems. While I can type in the dark, once the battery dies, its all over! **_

_**This is slash, that means boys playing with boys, and I ain't talking Monday night football (though I do like the tight pants). If you aren't old enough to vote, hit that little red X and go back to listening to Justin Bieber on your iPod. **_

_**My eternal love and thanks to nails233, butterflybetty, KM525, rathbonejunkie, Touchstone67, and Mrs. Agget. All you ladies rock my socks, though mine arent nearly as cool as Edward's socks in owenic's 65 hours! If you aren't reading it yet, RUN! NOW! I can wait. …..Back? Good! Now I hope you enjoy my rock and roll fantasy. **_

_**Stephenie Meyer owns it all, I just like to play to watch boys kiss. **_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 1<strong>

_Three years earlier:_

"Jasper, you've got backstage tonight. Keep the trash up, don't bother the bands, and make sure they have everything they need. You got it?"

I nodded at my boss Marcus, letting him know I heard him, while struggling to contain my excitement. In all the years I'd worked at the Terra Amphitheater, I'd never worked the backstage run before. It's the slot most of the musicians who worked there would sell their souls for. The buzz had been traveling through the crew for weeks; the execs from the recording company planned to be at the show, hoping to get a read on the crowd. I'd be in the perfect position to pass on the demo I'd devoted all of my free time on for the last six months. The gig at the amphitheater paid decent, and I needed the cash to keep myself afloat, but this wasn't the life I wanted.

I'd written every lyric, worked out the music, and played most of the instruments. I'd even mixed it myself, in the shithole basement apartment I lived in. In my gut, I knew the disc was good, damn fucking good. I'd been doing sound for enough bands around South Jersey and Philly for the last few years to know what fans were looking for. If I played my cards right, I'd get it in the right hands.

I'd been at the amphitheater for a little over five years, starting right after my sixteenth birthday. What I hadn't spent on instruments and equipment, I'd socked away. I'd done the same with the cash I pulled in running sound and filling in with other bands when someone didn't show. In less than two years, I'd played in five different bands. Other musicians might be content working construction by day and playing a few nights a week, but not me. I wanted more; I'd always wanted more. My mom had seen it and loved me enough to turn a blind eye. She also protected me from my dad's wrath when I brought home shitty grades and slept all day because I'd been out at the bars until two o'clock in the morning. Some nights, I didn't even bother coming home, falling asleep at the storage unit where the band practiced. I'd slept through more school than I'd been awake for my senior year and I'm pretty sure I only got a diploma because they knew making me stick around for another year would be a waste of everyone's time. They thought right. I didn't have time for that shit. All that mattered was the music. My music.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

Good damn thing I'd been saving all those years, too, because the shit really hit the fan two months after graduation, when my dad found my collection of gay porn. He'd been snooping around my room, convinced my shitty sleep habits were the result of a drug problem. I'm pretty sure he'd have been happier if he'd found a couple of rocks and a crack pipe. My being a musician had been hard enough for my dad to swallow; a faggot musician for a son proved to be too much. When he confronted me and I didn't deny it, he'd tossed me out that night. My mom cried, begging him to change his mind, but my being gay became the last straw in a big frigging haystack of what he considered my many fuck-ups in life.

That had been three years ago. Luckily, he didn't ban me from the house, just told me he wouldn't tolerate me living under his roof anymore. I still saw my mom at least once a week. If I happened to still be there when he got home from work, he'd merely grunt, before walking into the other room. It could've been worse, though. The friend I'd stayed with until I found my own place had been disowned by his entire family when he came out. I'd live with the silent treatment any day over that. I mean, hell, it wasn't like I planned to bring someone home for Christmas dinner anytime soon.

So, yeah, the job at the amphitheater fed my body, but I spent the rest of my time feeding my soul. Occasionally, some nights, I'd get lucky enough to take care of both at once. After work, I'd head straight to The Viper Room. My buddy Jake had called me to ask if I could help them out; their lead singer had gotten busted again, leaving them stuck for the gig they had that night. I'd told him I'd make it in time for the set; I had to take care of real life shit first.

Jake was one of the few local guys that understood me and my passion. Even with a wife and kid, not acquired in that order, he hadn't given up on his dreams. His wife Leah stood behind him one hundred percent. He was a lucky bastard and he knew it. They were also among the few friends who knew the truth about my being gay. Let's face it, when you're running around in mini campers with four other guys, changing in the back of cars, or shoved into dressing rooms smaller than the average closet, it's generally a good idea to keep your sexual orientation to yourself, especially when that orientation runs to dicks and not tits. While Leah had tried setting me up with a few guys she knew, none had held my interest long enough to put the effort into getting to know them better.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

While I took my break, Fallen Angels performed their sound check. The record company had touted them as the next big thing, signing them onto Den of Thieves' U.S. tour to garner some much needed exposure. Rumor had it, a shit ton of money had been sunk into the band, but the recording company wasn't seeing a return on their investment I'd only heard one song by the group; he late night DJ on KJAM had played it earlier in the week, during his preview show for upcoming concerts. I found it left much to be desired. It was all right, don't get me wrong, but if the band didn't have anything with a bit more legs to it, they'd be one hit wonders on VH1, no matter how much the recording company pushed them on the unsuspecting public.

The energized crowd had already begun wending their way through the turnstiles, filling in the sold-out seats, when I returned to the run. I stood in the wings watching them, guys and girls sporting band t-shirts and homemade posters, all eager to see Den of Thieves. I closed my eyes, imagining they were here to see me, to scream for my band. Yeah, I know, it's every musician's dream and I had about as much chance as Joe Blow off the street of snagging a contract, but I wasn't willing to give up. At twenty-one years old, my whole life stretched in front of me, with the only constant I could see winding through it being music. Lost in my inner musings, I didn't hear someone walk up behind me.

"Hey, kid, you got a light?"

Turning, I saw an older, dark-haired gentleman. Of average height, with long, dark hair clubbed back at his neck and a diamond stud winking in his ear, he exuded an air of confidence. Dressed in a black Armani suit, I pegged him for one of the execs.

"Uhm, yeah, sure, but you can't smoke back here. Marcus will have a shit fit. He doesn't care if it's in the dressing rooms or outside, just not on the run." Gesturing behind him, I continued, "Here, I'll show you a great place where you can snag a smoke and some fresh air."

Pointing the way, I led him over to a small, hidden door tucked off to the right side of the long walkway running behind the stage. Before bands started hauling in trailers full of equipment, it had been used to get the talent backstage. I propped the door open for him, then stood aside to let him precede me outside. The area was secluded, completely surrounded by trees, accessed by a narrow alley that hugged the side if the amphitheater.

"Nice." Sticking his thin cigar in his mouth, he accepted my lighter. He lit up and passed it back. "Name's Aro Volturi; I'm with Sun Music." He extended his hand and I shook it.

"Jazz Whitlock, musician." I pulled a smoke out of my pack to join him.

"A musician, huh? So you ever hear of Fallen Angels?"

"Nah, not really. One of the local stations played a song the other night. I heard it while heading home from a show."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Really? So what'd you think?"

I shifted from one foot to the other, not sure if I should be honest or not, especially since a golden opportunity had fallen right in my lap. I figured what the hell. The worst he could tell me was to piss off. He certainly wouldn't be the first and I wasn't in the mood to bullshit someone.

"Honestly? They're okay, but I wouldn't invest the farm on 'em if I were you. Their style is popular now, but if what I've heard is the norm for their music, they'll be old news before the year is out. That shit doesn't have any substance." I took a drag of my cigarette, watching the smoke curl from the tip, rather than meet his stare.

"Hmmmm, and you think you know what'll sell, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that, but I've listened to a lot of music, seen enough bands come through the area, that I'd say I've got a pretty decent handle on what'll stick and what won't." I turned my head to gauge his reaction. "Those boys ain't got it."

"Yeah? Well, I guess we'll see." With a shrug, he stubbed out his cigar, before looking at me again. "What about you, kid? What's your sound like?"

"With all due respect, sir, it's nothing like the stuff you're producing now, I can guarantee that." I leaned against the brick surround, bringing one foot up to leverage my body. "It's hard, melodic, with riffs that'll grab you by the throat and lyrics that'll steal your soul."

He lifted an eyebrow, an amused smirk crossing his lips. "Well, I'll give you this, you got passion. You got a demo, Jazz Whitlock? I'd like to give it a listen. I'm intrigued."

I masked my shock with a low cough,"Seriously? Yeah, I got one in my locker. I can grab it for you after the show." I couldn't help the tinge of regret that snuck into my voice, "I gotta get back to work, though. I can't afford to lose this job right now. I got bills to pay, ya know?"

"Yeah, I get it kid. Bring it to Fallen Angels' room after the show." He slapped a hand to my back, lingering a little longer than I felt comfortable with. "We'll talk then."

Nodding, I headed back inside, with him on my heels. Aro walked off toward the dressing rooms, while I took up my post again in the wings. My hands shook like leaves in an autumn wind; I was scared shitless. I knew my stuff was good, I wasn't worried about that. If Sun didn't want it, someone else would, eventually. I'd been shopping it for months now, though. I had a pile of rejection notices almost as high as the stack of delivery confirmations from mailing the discs out. Letting Aro Volturi have a copy would be the closest I'd gotten to putting it in the right hands. Maybe my honesty hadn't turned him off, after all. _Pull it together, Jazz. This is what you've been waiting for. Don't fuck it up now. _I shook off the doubt that plagued me. Worrying wasn't gonna get me anywhere. I had four hours to reclaim the confidence I'd had ten minutes ago. It was time to nut up or shut up.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

I'd been busy taking care of Den of Thieves' need for more beer in their dressing room when Fallen Angel took the stage. However, it didn't take three songs into their set for me to know my assessment had been dead on. If they had the right look, though, the screamers might keep 'em around a little longer. Well, at least until the next group of pretty boys came along. Don't get me wrong, they didn't suck, but they sounded like every other band in rotation on the radio. If they didn't get some depth, they didn't stand a chance. They needed to find a hook, something to make them stand out from the rest of the pack.

I had to say, though; the singer had a great set of pipes. Even with the volume of the speakers and the screaming crowd, his voice rang out over it all, clear, with no signs of the strain I'd gotten used to with the club bands. The guy had obviously had some training. When the band went belly up, he'd have a great shot at a solo career, anyway. The more I listened, the more his vocals drew me in, mesmerizing me. Bluesy and heartfelt, his voice gave depth to the otherwise mediocre lyrics of their songs. In a different group, with better musicians, it'd be worth spending the time listening to him.

I stayed busy backstage, clearing up trash and funneling bottles of water to the roadies. Time passed quickly, leaving me little time to think, much less agonize over talking to Aro again, later that night. I smirked when I overheard one of the roadies bitching about the band's "shit-tastic bubblegum pussy rock." Yeah, that pretty much summed it all up. When he saw me looking at him, he shrugged his shoulders.

"It's a job, dude."

Oh, I could so fucking relate. Isn't that why I was wasting time, scrambling around to gather up empty water bottles and sweep up the trash that blew around backstage? It certainly wasn't my dream job, but until I achieved that, it was a damn sight better than starving to death. Lost in my own thoughts, I didn't notice that Fallen Angels had finished their set. Kneeling at the bottom of the steps to retrieve a water bottle that had rolled underneath, I felt someone kick my leg, followed by a string of profanities.

"Stupid fucking kid! I almost broke my God damn neck! What the hell's wrong with you? Don't you have enough fucking sense to get out of the way when someone's coming down the stairs?"

Shoving my hair out of my eyes, I stood up, biting back the smartass retort that rose in my throat. He wasn't worth the trouble. I wasn't losing my job over some asshole that'd obviously had his Cheerios pissed in. Besides, the guy stood six foot five, easy, and I didn't have a death wish. Mumbling an apology, I stepped off to the side so the rest of the band could get by. Glaring at the big guy's back, I heard someone clear their throat behind me before speaking.

"Dude, ignore him. Ever since Sun signed us, Paul's had a God complex. Like if his ego wasn't big enough already." It was the voice I'd been admiring for the past hour.

Turning, I understood why all the chicks had crowded the stage, screaming their lungs out. The man standing in front of me redefined gorgeous. The residual smoke from the flashpots swirled around his head, haloing him in its sulfuric haze. A shock of his messy, burnt umber hair had fallen across his forehead and he restlessly shoved it back from his face. Deep green eyes were hooded by thick brows and shimmered from the caustic vapors, lighting their depths with an emerald fire. I couldn't stop myself from dragging my eyes down his body. Long lean legs were tightly encased in dark denim that molded him like a second skin and rode low on his hips. A sweat soaked, cut-up CBGB's t-shirt strained across his well defined chest, before tapering into his waistband, accentuating his taut abs. My eyes flicked back to his face in time to see his tongue dart out, moistening his full lips. I watched his Adam's apple bob when he swallowed hard, his nostrils flaring at my blatant admiration.

I didn't miss the widening of his eyes or the flame of desire in their depths, before he dropped his glance from my face. He mumbled something about needing to get a shower, then blushed, before walking away. Following him with my eyes, I found the view from the back just as enticing, his tight ass on display in the fitted denim. I muffled a groan, my dick twitching at the sight. Pretty boy could run, but I'd be seeing him again soon - real soon.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

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><p><em><strong>Songs that rocked this chapter:<strong>_

_**Crying, One Night Alone, & Hell Raisers by Vixen**_

_**Standing in the Shadows by Whitesnake**_

_**Jukebox Hero by Foreigner**_

_**Come Play the Game & Bad Reputation by Heaven's Edge**_

_**On the Line by Tangier**_

_**If you've never heard of Tangier or Heaven's Edge- check them out on YouTube. They were club bands from New Jersey back in the 80s-I was fortunate enough to see them play live in the clubs before they were signed to recording contracts. Awesome music and great guys, too!  
><strong>_


	3. Chapter 2

_**This is slash, that means boys playing with boys, and I ain't talking Monday night football (though I do like the tight pants). If you aren't old enough to vote, hit that little red X and go back to your bastardized KidzBop CDs. **_

_**My eternal love and thanks to nails233 & butterflybetty for their amazing beta works and ongoing support! Thanks also to KM525, rathbonejunkie, Touchstone67, and Mrs. Agget for your past pre-reading on parts of this chapter months ago. I took every bit of advice to heart and I hope it shows. Check out Mr.s Agget's Mismatch Made in Heaven—Cowboyward and Geeksper—omnomnom! Its complete, and she just started the sequel. Now I hope you enjoy my rock and roll fantasy. **_

_**Stephenie Meyer owns the character names, but these sex, gay musicians are all the product of my over-fertile groupie imagination! **_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 2<strong>

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

Two hours later, my ears still ringing from the raw power of Den of Thieves' performance, I'd scrubbed the grime from backstage off my face, before changing into a pair of faded light blue jeans and a sleeveless black t-shirt that had been slit open under the arms. Sitting on the bench, I slipped my feet into a pair of battered chucks, before checking out my reflection in the mirror. Shaggy dark blond hair that needed to be cut months ago, hazel-green eyes, a too full bottom lip and a hint of shadow on my jawline. It all added up to a look that tended to attract attention on stage, from both sexes. I could give a shit less about one, and knew better than to let the other sidetrack me. Shoving my hand into my hair, I pushed it off my face, before I reached down and tucked in my t-shirt, adjusting my dick to rest more comfortably in the tight jeans. Figuring it didn't get much better, especially since I'd be on stage in an hour and a half, I headed down to the dressing rooms. Only the slight shaking of the thin plastic case in my hand revealed how nervous I felt.

The hallway in front of the dressing rooms bustled with activity and noise. Shouting roadies scrambled to pack the bands' equipment, rushing to get on the road to hit the next stop on the tour. A deafening cacophony of screaming fans and music poured out of the dressing rooms, punctuated by camera flashes and stumbling drunks. Scantily clad groupies, their tits swelling over corsets and tight v-slashed tees, shoved against the barricades, shouting lewd suggestions and offering favors for a chance to get to the bands. Security struggled to hold them back, their arms stretched wide in front of the yellow gates, though one overzealous fan managed to break through. They rushed to scoop her up, carrying her away kicking and screaming. The stench of stale cigarette smoke, cheap perfumes, and flat beer hung in the air, its acrid smell burning my throat. Sidling down the wall to avoid the crunch, I stepped up to Zack, one of the band's roadies I'd met earlier.

"Hey, Zack. Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Volturi?"

"Whatcha need Mr. Volturi for? Is there a problem?"

"No, nothing like that. I ran into him upstairs earlier and we got to talking. He told me to bring him a copy of my demo before I took off tonight. Is it cool, can I see him?"

Zack looked at me and puffed out his cheeks, letting go with a deep sigh. "I'm gonna let you through kid, 'cause I feel like I can trust you. You'd better not be bulllshitting me, though. I'll have no problem kicking your ass if you're lying."

Acknowledging his threat, I headed to the open door he pointed toward. People milled around it, dipping in and out, bottles of beer and plastic cups in their hands. Moving closer, a shadowed couple making out against the wall came into focus. Paul, that oversized asshole from Fallen Angels, had a voluptuous, barely legal groupie pressed against the wall. One hand snaked up her thigh, shoving her denim skirt up almost to her waist, leaving nothing to the imagination, while his other one mauled the ample tits falling out of the black lace bra she wore. Shaking my head, I almost felt sorry for her. Poor kid probably thought she'd had her dreams come true, but she'd be lucky if he remembered her in twenty minutes, much less the next morning. I fought down the temptation to intervene, knowing I'd only be setting myself up to get my ass kicked if I did.

Stopping just outside the crowded doorway, I took a deep breath, swallowing back the nervous lump in my throat, before entering. Inside the crowded, hazy room, chaos reigned supreme. Bourbon Street at the height of Mardi Gras had nothing on Fallen Angels' dressing room. Debauchery abounded, with every vice known to mankind available for the taking. Music blasted, booze flowed freely, and the band lounged across the furniture, girls draped all over them. Ashtrays overflowed on each end of the center glass table, while a fleck-tainted mirror rested in the middle, a pair of cut straws lying next to it. A distinctive sweet, sage smell permeated the room, thick enough to guarantee a contact high if I didn't get out of there soon. The floor and walls were lost in the mass of people crammed into the confined space, but I didn't see the gorgeous singer anywhere.

Aro huddled in the corner, immersed in conversation with several other suits, his words punctuated by sweeping hand gestures, his brow furrowed in contemplation. I stood to the side, hesitant to approach him, when he noticed me hovering near the doorway. Motioning for me to join him, he returned to his conversation, while lighting a thin cigar. I twisted my way through the undulating bodies that were everywhere. Snaking around and under a sea of waving arms, my eyes darted around the room, still seeking the man with the mesmerizing voice. I'd heard the girls chanting for him outside the amphitheater. _Edward Masen_. They'd given me a name to go with the pretty face.

Then, my eyes fell on the second reason I'd willingly braved the hordes of screaming groupies. _Edward. _ He slouched in the corner, one leg bent and bracing his foot against the wall behind him. A beer bottle dangled from his tapered fingers, a mask of detached tolerance shielding his real emotions. Unable to resist the tempting sight on display, I dragged my eyes down his body, before traveling back up, drinking in every nuance of his appearance. Long, lean legs were encased in faded, well-worn Levis, the pocket frayed at the corner where his finger hooked into it. Instead of a belt, a twisted black bandana threaded through the belt loops, matching the black wife beater that clung to his torso. A short, distressed, frayed denim jacket topped it all, creating a look guaranteed to cause the screamers to cream their panties. The band's stylist knew her job well.

Edward's hair, still damp from the shower, rioted around his head in tempting disarray. My hand twitched at my side at the thought of getting into that beautiful mess, tugging his head back to gain access to his neck. Over the end of the beer bottle he lifted to his lips, his eyes locked on mine, before giving me the same once over I'd just subjected him to. Meeting my avid perusal again, I noticed him switch the position of his legs, drawing my attention to the visible bulge in his jeans. Snapping my attention back to his face, my gaze even and direct, I slipped my tongue out to moisten my bottom lip before drawing it between my teeth. Even across the hazy room, I could see the muscles working in his jaw, the glimmer of awareness in his hooded eyes when they focused on my mouth, the bottle returning to his lips. Those fucking lips, they were made to be wrapped around something with a bit more girth, like my dick. He wrapped them around the neck of the bottle, and through the clear glass, I saw his tongue slip inside, while he eyefucked my mouth. My dick twitched in response, my already skin tight jeans becoming uncomfortable. Pretty Boy had thrown down a challenge I'd be more than willing to take, later. Right now, I had bigger fish to reel in.

Reaching Aro's side, he shook my hand again, then introduced me to the other men in the circle. I catalogued their names, knowing I needed all the contacts I could get in this business, while I nodded my head in acknowledgement and shook all of their hands.

"So, is that it?" He motioned to the disc in my hand.

"Yes, sir." I handed over the jewel case, apprehension locking like a vice grip in my chest.

Striding to the room's sound system, Aro turned down the music, before placing the disc in the player. _FUCK!_ I hadn't expected him to listen to it in the midst of a roomful of people. My stomach tumbled, the butterflies turning into a flock of vultures picking at my entrails, while he queued the first song, returning the volume to its previous level. Then, the music started, flooding the room with a single raw electric guitar, growing to a crescendo, with full complement of percussion, drums, keys and more guitars. A collective murmur of appreciation rose around me, the positive feedback banishing the nerves that had threatened to overwhelm me.

Despite the response from the others, I focused my full attention on Aro's face, his expression unreadable. In the grand scheme of things, his opinion would be the only one that mattered. He let the first song, a grinding, raunchy rocker, play through, revealing nothing while he listened. Reaching the first bridge, the guitars careened around each other, the thumping bass setting the tempo. While not the best track on the demo, it got the blood pumping, and I caught a trace of approval in Aro's smug nod. I unclenched the balled fist I'd unconsciously made at my side, letting the blood return to my numb fingers.

I took my focus off the executive's face to chance a surreptitious glance around the room. Two of the band members had leaned forward, the girls in their laps temporarily forgotten, while they focused on the driving guitar solo. The skinny one, the guitar player if I remembered right, tapped the other guy on the knee, his eyebrow shooting up in appreciation. Looking toward the suits in the corner, I noticed their rapt fascination with the pounding rhythm. I'd done it. They were listening, really listening, to my music. When the song wound down, Aro looked back to where he'd left me standing. The inscrutable mask had fallen over his face again, bringing the nerves crashing back. He pivoted on his heel, reflectively returning back to the group of men he'd left me with. And, while he stood there, processing what he'd heard, my music played on.

"Jasper?"

"Yes, sir," I choked out my response around the nervous bile that clogged my throat.

"You got a band?"

"No, sir, not really. I played all the instruments and mixed the tracks myself." To disguise my sweaty shaking palms, I slid my hand against the leg of my jeans, before shoving my hair off my face.

"And the lyrics and vocals, are those yours, too?"

"Yes, it's all mine, every piece of it."

He tapped a finger against his pursed lips, his eyes thoughtful and distant, while I fought the urge to shift my weight on my feet. The last thing I wanted was for him to see my anxiety.

"What about live performances? Is there any footage I can see? Maybe a video on YouTube or something?"

I thought for a minute before answering, "I don't know if there is or not. I've seen people with cameras at shows I've played, so I'm sure there's something out there somewhere, but I haven't bothered to look for it."

He shook his head, regret clouding his voice when he spoke, "That's too bad. I'd like to see how you handle yourself on stage. Well… "

I interrupted before he could continue, "I'm supposed to be playing in about an hour, at the Viper Room, a small club about 15 minutes away. I'm filling in for a friend whose singer can't make the show. Jake and his guys know a couple of my songs; I'm certain he'd be cool with adding them to the set list. I'd be more than happy to give you directions to the club so you can come check out my stage presence." Seeing Aro's hesitation at the suggestion, I paused, wondering if I'd pushed my luck. Mentally shaking myself, I threw my cards on the table. "Look, Mr. Volturi, I know music. It's the only thing I really give a shit about, the only thing I've ever given a shit about. I've watched the trends and I've seen how fads come and go. One thing that's remained constant, even through phases like grunge and garage band one shot wonders, is that fans love arena rock. Groups like Kiss, Aerosmith, BonJovi – they're still selling out shows all over the world. My music isn't a tired rehash of the great groups that have gone before me. I'm not trying to cash in on the fame they've earned." I waved toward the sound system, my voice filled with passion, a heated flush creeping across my face, "This - my music, the lyrics I write, the melodies I compose - it's fresh, it means something, and takes that same winning style to a new standard. If Sun Music isn't interested, I'm sure someone else will be. I've waited this long, I can wait until the right opportunity comes along; it won't stop me from playing. So, I guess the real question is: Are you a gambling man, Mr. Volturi? Are you willing to take a chance on a proven formula, with enough of a twist to really make an impact?"

When I finished my diatribe, I snapped my mouth shut, hearing a sharp intake of breath from one of the men behind me, suddenly realizing I'd just, in all likelihood, pissed of the first record executive to take me seriously. _Damn it Jasper, when the hell are you going to learn to keep your fucking mouth shut when you're ahead? _I berated myself, never dropping my eyes from those of the man standing in front of me. Aro's silent scrutiny disconcerted me, almost willing me to flinch and look away. Instead I held my ground, waiting for his response. The silence between us grew, almost palpable in its intensity. _Had I overplayed my hand?_ Then, Aro started to laugh, a deep rollicking chuckle exploding from him, before he clapped me on the back.

"You gotta brass set, kid. I'll give you that. Tell you what, let me wrap up a few things here with Marcus,then I can have the driver take us to see your show. I'd suggest you make it worth my time." With that parting shot, he shook my hand, then strode out of the dressing room, the suits scrambling to catch up to him.

The noise level in the room picked up again after Aro left. Pulling off the girl wrapped around him, Fallen Angels' guitar player stood up, snagging a couple beers out of the cooler before walking over to me. Passing me one of the bottles, he waited while I twisted off the cap and took a swig.

"Was that true? You really put all that shit together yourself?"

Wiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I nodded. "Yeah, I've been working on it for over a year, shopping it for the last six months, with nothing but a pile of rejection letters to show for it."

He lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "No shit? Damn, they must be hiring some tone-deaf fuckers at the labels." He extended his hand, "Name's Eric, by the way."

"Jasper Whitlock, but most people call me Jazz." I took his hand, then nodded toward the door, "Is he gonna show up at the club?"

"Dude, if he doesn't, Sun's gonna miss out on a golden opportunity. You're good, man, really fucking good. I'd suggest you start thinking which of your buddies you want to take with you on the ride of your life. Matter of fact,I'm thinking I should haul my ass over to check out the local talent, too. We ain't blowing town until sometime tomorrow morning; it'll be better than hanging around this joint."

"That's cool. Any cab or limo service in town will know where the Viper Room is, just give them the name." Pulling out my phone, I checked the time, "But look, man, I gotta bail. I'll see you later, if you show."

"Oh, I'll be showing." His eyes drifted around the room, "I might even drag a couple of these other fuckers with me, too." I nodded, setting down the empty bottle on a nearby table before turning to leave. "Hey, Jasper!" I looked back over my shoulder, to where Eric stood near the sound system. "You want this disc back, dude? I know that shit gets expensive when you're mailing them out all the time."

I shook my head, a cocky smirk curling my lip, "Nah, man, keep it. You can say you've got an original someday."

While I wound my way back through the milling crowd, thanking those who mentioned the CD, I fought the urge to punch my fist in the air and shout. I'd done it; I'd gotten the chance I'd been waiting for more than half my life. After months of beating down doors, receiving one rejection letter after another and wondering if my father had been right, someone finally showed an interest in my music. Reaching the door, I felt a tingling sensation on the back of my neck. Turning to look behind me, I was stopped in my tracks by Edward's heated gaze. Shooting him an audacious wink, I inclined my head toward Eric, lifting my eyebrow in invitation. His eyes widened, then he shrugged before looking away, shifting his position again to discreetly palm the thick bulge in his tight jeans. Something told me Eric would have company on his foray into South Philly's rock scene.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

* * *

><p><em><strong>The playlist that fueled this chapter:<strong>_

_**Figured You Out by Nickelback**_

_**Dreams in the Dark by Badlands **_

_**Valley of the Kings by Blue Murder**_

_**I'm On to You by Hurricane**_

_**All We Are by Warlock **_

_**Tonite by Roughhouse**_

_**I've submitted a story for the Slash/Backslash 3.0 contest. Check out all the great entries here: www(DOT)fanfiction(DOT)net/u/2110516/Slash_Backslash**_


	4. Chapter 3

_**Sorry for the incredibly long delay. RL is a bitch, I am merely its puppet. Those who know me on FB, know that chaos is a generous description for what things have been like for me over the last month.I'll try to do better, but I make no promises for any type of a schedule at this point.  
><strong>_

_**This is slash, that means boys playing with boys, in backrooms of poorly lit bars and clubs, on tour buses, and wherever else my fertile imagination decides it will be happening. If you aren't old enough to vote, hit that little red X and go back to playing Just Dance Kids on your Wii. **_

_**My eternal love and thanks to nails233 & butterflybetty for their amazing beta work and ongoing support! Thanks also to KM525, rathbonejunkie, Touchstone67, and Mrs. Agget for your support and encouragement when I first decided to start writing my rock and roll wet dream. Special thanks to dreamingpoet and beckybrit for jumping in to pre-read at the last minute for me, too. **_

_**Stephenie Meyer owns the character names, the bands in the end notes own their song lyrics, but these sexy, hard-playing musicians are all the product of my over-fertile groupie imagination! **_

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 3<strong>

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

I'd called Jake on my way to The Viper Room, wanting to give him a heads up about my conversation with Aro Volturi. Without hesitation, he agreed to change part of Tribe's set, working my songs into the mix. He'd offered to dump their whole set in favor of mine but I'd shut the idea down. He deserved a chance for his stuff to be heard, too, and I wasn't gonna take it away from him. We'd worked out the song order while I wended my way through the late night traffic crowding the narrow streets.

Picking up Roosevelt Boulevard, I managed to time the lights, making all of them on the three mile stretch before I reached the converted warehouse sitting on the edge of a K-mart parking lot. The lot bustled with activity; crowds of people still hung out around the cars, all the underage chicks getting a buzz on before heading inside to flash their tits. Even in the club scene, some girls would do anything to say they were sleeping with the band.

The glass-packed mufflers on my refurbed black and red '67 Camaro announced my arrival, causing more than a few heads to swivel. Hands rose in recognition, and I waved out the window in acknowledgement. By the time I reached an empty parking spot near the stage door, a few people had migrated back there, too, milling around the car when I got out. I spotted Tony, one of Tribe's roadies, leaning against the building.

"Yo! Tony! Can you give me a hand, dude?"

"I got you, bro." He waved for me to toss him the keys, walking away from the blonde who'd been chatting him up, probably looking to get backstage.

A pair of arms wrapped around my waist from behind, followed by a sultry giggle. Grabbing the questing hands, I turned around to confront their owner. Alice. One of Leah's friends, I'd been fending off her wandering grasp for the better part of a year. Even Leah all but telling her I was gay hadn't deterred her. Apparently, she thought she could be the one to change my mind. What the fuck ever. Even straight, I doubted I could have sprung wood around her, since she resembled the skanked out babies from one of those fucked-up kiddie beauty pageants.

Dark brown hair shot through with blonde and pink streaks fell around her gamine face like a mane, the top of it teased to maximum volume. Her skin-tight, black leather skirt barely covered her ass, while her ample tits spilled out of a red lace push-up bra under a half zipped matching leather jacket. She teetered on a pair of black stiletto thigh high boots, adding a good four inches to her petite five foot frame, but she still had to lean back to look up at me, pushing her chest out for better viewing. Still holding her hands in one of mine, I stepped back.

"How many times I gotta tell you I'm not interested, Alice?" I groused, trying to make a break for the door. She pulled her hands free, twisting her fingers into the belt loops on either side of my fly, her thumbs dangerously close to the zipper.

"Aw, c'mon, Jazz. I promise, I'll make you feel real good," she cajoled, her thumbs stroking across the tight denim in seeking circles.

I stifled a laugh. "Really? Does that line work for you?" I pulled loose from her grip, before continuing, "I've got some advice for you, sweetheart. Stop throwing yourself where you're not wanted and get some self-respect. Shit like this just makes you look pathetic and desperate. Maybe if you'd quit giving it away, you might attract a better class of guys sniffing around you. Now, if you don't mind, I gotta go make some music."

In quick strides, I ducked into the sanctuary of the back hallway, confident Tony would chase Alice back around front if she wanted to see the show. Entering the dressing room, I found Jake and the other guys, all going through their pre-show routines. Leah spied me from her chair in the corner where she sat sewing, and called out to me.

"Hey, Jazz. Just a heads up, Alice heard you were singing in place of Mitch tonight. I'm sure she'll be out front."

Shaking my head, I walked over to crouch down next to her. "Too late, she cornered me in the back lot. I might have hurt her feelings, but damn she's fucking aggressive! She all but grabbed my dick in front of God and everyone. Does she really think guys like being pawed like that?"

Leah quirked an eyebrow at me, her lips twitching at the corner while she tried to hide a smile. "Well, babe, _some_ guys do. You know, the kind that actually likes tits," she whispered under her breath, mindful of those in the room who didn't know the truth.

Laughing, I replied, "Point taken. So, how'd you manage to get here tonight? Where's Emily?"

"Mom offered to keep her so I could get out for the night. Jake said some suit from Sun Records is supposed to be here?"

I pulled at the frayed threads on the worn knee of my jeans. "Yeah, dude by the name of Aro Volturi. I ran into him backstage at Terra. I bullshitted him into listening to my demo, then he said he wanted to see some video. I didn't know if there was any floating around, so I told him to come to the show if he wanted to see me in action."

"That's good, right? I mean, isn't that what you've been working for?" She tied off the thread she was using, before clipping it close to the fabric. "Hold on. Hey, babe!" Jake looked up from across the room, where he talked to Colin, the bassist. "Here you go, good as new." She tossed the shirt at him, blushing when he blew her a kiss. "I mean, really. What's the point of all your hard work, if no one but the club hounds in Philly are ever going to hear it?"

"No, you're right." I met her pensive gaze, knowing I could be honest with her. "The guy gives me a bad vibe, though."

"Whatya mean? He's not on the up and up? I thought Sun was a pretty big deal."

"Nah, it ain't that. It didn't have anything to do with the music; it was the way he acted toward me personally. He was a little too familiar, if you know what I mean."

A small glimmer of shock registered on Leah's face. "What if he pushes it?"

"Fuck that shit, Leah. I want to make it as much as any guy, but no way in hell will I whore myself out to some suit to guarantee I do. I'll languish in obscurity before I'd even consider it."

She leaned over to give me a hug. "That's what I wanted to hear. Jazz, babe, you got real talent. Don't sell it, or yourself, short. It'll come when it's time for it to happen." I heard the door open behind me, pulling her attention toward it. "I think Tony's ready for you. Better go do your sound check. You guys only got another ten minutes before you need to hit the stage."

I hugged her back, before bouncing back up to a standing position. Tony handed me my guitar, helping me fasten the wireless to the back of my jeans.

"R.J.'s already at the board waiting for you so he can set your mic levels," he said. "Better get on it, dude. Marty gets real fucking testy if the bands hit the stage late." I nodded my head in agreement. Marty, the owner of the Viper Room, was a fucking tyrant, but his club offered prime exposure, so the local groups tolerated his temper.

Before leaving the dressing room, I told Jake I'd meet him on stage, bumping fists for good luck. He'd already filled in the rest of his guys on the sitch' with Sun, walking through the set list changes we'd worked up on my drive over. Bounding up the small flight of stairs to the stage, I flipped on my guitar, careful to stay away from the stacks to prevent feedback. I checked its tuning, while running through the levels with the sound tech. Satisfied with the results; I switched off my guitar and slung it over my shoulder, before checking the other two guitars Tony had prepped for me. Finally, I turned to look out into the club.

None of the stage lights were on, allowing me a clear view of the crowd pressing forward to lean against the barricade. My eyes scanned the packed room, looking for the suits from Sun, or the guys from Fallen Angels. I didn't see any of them. Shrugging over a missed opportunity, I forced myself to concentrate on the first song Jake and I'd decided on. When we'd talked it out, we'd been pretty sure, if the execs showed up, they'd probably be late. We'd slotted one of Tribe's songs first, followed by two of mine. Glancing at the set list taped to the side of the stacks, I confirmed the order, just as Jake and the other guys joined me on stage. We all gathered around Lucas' drum set for Jake's pre-show pep talk, the crowd noise growing when they saw our silhouettes moving around. I fed off the energy in the room, the adrenaline rush pumping me up for the next hour of performing. This was why I played. It wasn't for fame or glory; I played for the sheer love of the music and the way it made people feel, the way it made me feel.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

By the end of the second song, a thin sheen of sweat covered my skin. Stepping back from the mic, I waited for Lucas to set the cue, my fingers fretting up the first chord. Drumsticks clattered together, his deep voice counting out to three, before I strode across the stage to lean against Jake on one side, Colin on the other. We played through the opening riff, the audience roaring in appreciation. The song we'd picked was one I'd been playing for a while, one that got the crowd moving and singing along. We all leaned into the mic, harmonizing on the opening lines.

"_Fallin' In Love Again_

_Fallin' In Love Again"_

With a drum round from Lucas, I pushed off Jake, spinning back to my own mic. My hair clung to me, sweat beading on my forehead from the heat of the lights and the exertion of playing. Blinking against the bright stage lights, I spotted Leah standing next to R.J. at the sound board. She shot me a wink, accompanied by a thumbs up, while she sang along. Jake and Colin prowled the stage, both nailing their parts, jumping on a mic when they were needed for harmonies. I could feel the broad smile on my face, my blood racing at the thrill of being able to play in front of people who liked what I did. Jake danced to where I stood; joining me in the second chorus, before stepping back to allow me room for the guitar solo.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the wide double doors open, admitting a large group of people. The swooping lights panned the crowd, catching them in their glare. A spark of copper blazed, then faded when the lights moved, but in that brief moment of time, I knew who had just arrived. _Edward._ While they moved through the packed club, making their way to a couple of abandoned tables in the corner, I spied Aro with a skinny, underdressed, over-painted brunette draped on his left arm; his token eye candy.

Finishing the song, I stepped back to let Jake announce the next one from Tribe's playlist, while I switched guitars to pick up rhythm on their song. My eyes never left the group from Sun Music, though. Aro motioned imperiously for Edward to sit on his right, while the brunette cozied into his left side. One of the other suits had joined them, along with the other members of Fallen Angels. I recognized the drummer from Den of Thieves, too, and Zack, the roadie I'd met earlier. A waitress scurried over to gather their drink orders, no doubt spotting the potential for a big tip. Aro made a show of flashing his diamond studded ring when he pulled out his wallet from inside his suit jacket, carelessly dropping a credit card on her tray. His focus returned to the stage when Jake picked out the bluesy intro to the next song.

Lucas counted in the rest of the band, while I growled into the mic, launching into the raunchy lyrics. Tribe's music was rougher than mine, more balls to the wall, but still damn good, too. I belted out the song, slinking my hips in time to the throbbing bass. Playing rhythm gave me more freedom to move around during the song breaks, and I took advantage of it, grabbing available mics when I needed to sing. Leah waved at me from the sound board, pointing to the corner. I nodded, confirming her suspicion that the record company reps had arrived.

While Jake bantered with the audience in between songs, I grabbed one of the bottles of water Tony had lined up next to my amp. Twisting off the cap, I dropped it to the floor, before gulping it down to quench the burning ache in my throat caused by the acrid fog that billowed across the stage. Tossing the empty bottle aside, I checked my tuning, then sauntered up to lean over his shoulder and yelled into the mic.

"Is everybody feelin' good?" At the answering roar from in front of the stage, I smirked. "Fucking awesome! For those of you who don't know me, I'm Jazz Whitlock. My buddy, Jake, here," I tugged on his long black hair, "gave me a ring tonight, saying he needed to borrow my pipes to lend voice to his tunes. Being the good friend I am, how the hell could I turn down an offer like that?" Jake pumped a fist in the air, the crowd screaming again. "So, without further ado, here's some more from Tribe!"

Lucas had been teasing the cymbal while I spoke, crashing into it when I moved toward my mic, Jake's guitar whining while he nodded in time to the music. Gripping the mic stand, I belted out the lyrics to a song Jake and I had co-wrote in his garage the summer before.

"_Alright_

_Every single day I got a heartache coming my way  
>I don't wanna say goodbye baby<br>but look at the tears in my eyes  
>I don't wanna say goodbye mama<br>but look at the way you made me cry  
>every way that's nice you show<br>you've got a heart that's made of ice  
>and I know . . ."<em>

The rest of the set went off without a hitch, the band moving seamlessly between their songs and mine. Against my earlier protests that it was still their show, Jake had insisted one of my songs needed to finish things off, making it the last thing the execs heard.

While Jake introduced his band mates, letting them each take a minute or two to show off their chops, I switched guitars again, then downed another bottle of water before swiping a towel across my face. Turning back to face the crowd, I noticed Eric, the guitarist from Fallen Angels, had moved closer to the action, standing on the edge of the crowd just to the right of the stage. Paul stood next to him, jawing in his ear, but Eric waved him away, his attention focused on the show. I tucked my guitar pick between my lips, my fingers teasing over the frets on my guitar, while I absently checked the tuning.

My eyes scanned the room, seeking out the rest of the group from Sun. Aro had a phone pressed to his ear, his hand cupped over the other one, his face intent as he barked orders at whoever was on the other end. The brunette looked bored, her taloned fingers tapping against the table while she fiddled with the straw in her glass. Edward had moved to a chair across the table from where he'd sat earlier. He straddled it, his arms resting across the back, a beer bottle hanging from his loose grip. Even through the blistering stage lights, I could feel the intensity of his stare, one I met with my own even gaze. He raised the bottle to his lips, tilting his head back to swallow, and my body reacted, tightening in response to the visual stimulus. I was pulled from my reverie by the sound of my name.

"I'd like to thank Jazz one last time for helping us out. If you're interested in a copy of his demo, catch him after the show. I'm pretty sure he might have a few copies left, but get 'em while the gettin's good. He's gonna be moving on to bigger things real damn soon." Jake shot me a cocky smile, while I laughed, flipping him off in return. "This last song is one of his, so let's make some noise and let him know how much we appreciate him coming out to join us tonight!"

I stepped up onto Lucas' drum riser, my back to the audience, while I counted out the intro with him. He stood, drumstick twirling between his fingers, before dropping to his stool to hit the first beat. Biting my lip, I nodded when he nailed it, then turned, bouncing side to side on the balls of my feet, before jumping down on to the stage to hit my mic in time for the opening verse.

"_Well I've been wonderin'  
>If you're doin' alright<br>Cuz you and me could do  
>What we please in the night<em>

_When the darkness falls_  
><em>Casts a spell on you<em>  
><em>If we both get caught<em>  
><em>We'll be cut in two . . ."<em>

Dancing back, I made room for Colin and Jake to join me on the chorus, the two of them power hitching their instruments in time to the beat, before spinning away for me to sing the second verse. The room pulsed, the strobing lights illuminating the chicks crowding the stage, their hands waving in the air. The audience joined in on the second chorus, drowning out the band. Jake bumped my shoulder, a knowing smirk on his face, while he nodded in time to the beat. The crowd ate it up, their enthusiastic response amping up our onstage antics. After singing the bridge, I stepped around the mic stand, planting myself at the edge of the stage, while my fingers ripped through the chords with reckless abandon. My hair fell across my face, the wet tendrils clinging to my sweaty skin in loose curls. The muscles in my forearms bunched when I wrenched the guitar neck up almost perpendicular with the floor; my body swayed in time to the music, the guitar my willing dance partner. I barely registered the groping hands travelling up my legs, typical from the aggressive chicks that crowded the stage. I'd learned to accept it as a necessary evil of being a frontman. Instead, my attention had been drawn to Pretty Boy leaving his chair in the corner. Not letting him out of my sight, I watched him languidly walk around to where Eric stood, a cocky swagger in every step. My blood racing, I extricated myself from the groupies, before sauntering back to finish the song, Jake and Colin joining me one last time at the center mic.

"_Oh I said  
>Look around<br>Somebody's waiting  
>I said<br>Turn around, whoa!  
>Cuz somebody's waiting now<br>You better look around  
>Cuz somebody's waiting . . ."<em>

The music faded out and we sang the last line _a cappella_, before the stage went black. The crowd erupted in wolf whistles and screams, before they began chanting for more. I looked at Jake, unsure what to do next, to see him staring to the back of the stage, where Marty stood, waving us back to the mics. The lights came back up, a simple spot lighting the middle of the stage, where the four of us stood, arms around each other. We took a bow, before Jake stepped up to speak.

"Marty is giving us the go-ahead for one more song. So, how about it, you guys wanna hear some more?" The answering swell of sound made him laugh, while giving me a sideways glance. "Whatya think, Jazz? You got one more song we can entertain these fine people with?"

"Oh, I think I can handle it." I smirked, my fingers picking out the intro to a song Jake and I had covered often over the years.

Lucas shouted, "Hell, yeah!" before darting back behind his kit, picking up the rhythm. While Thin Lizzy had originally recorded 'The Boys are Back in Town', we preferred the version Bon Jovi had done a few years back. The crowd joined in, often singing louder than we were, even with the sound system. We had fun with it, Jake jumping into the crowd to go sing to Leah, before coming back up with the rest of us. I let the crowd melt away remembering late nights in Jake's garage, just the guys jamming out. Colin and I faced each other at center stage, playing each other's guitar, before slapping a high five. I jumped back up on Lucas' riser, encouraging the crowd to sing louder. We finished with a flourish, the lights going black again, while we all bounded off the stage to the dressing room. Leah met us there, giggling when Jake picked her up to whirl around in a circle.

Once he set her down, she came over and gave me a hug. "You guys were incredible! I don't think I've ever heard better." I hugged her back, thanking her for her support. A light rap sounded on the door, heralding the arrival of a waitress with a tray full of fresh beer. We all grabbed one, then dropped onto assorted pieces of furniture scattered throughout the room. The club's sound system kicked in, Motley Crüe filling the air and making conversation difficult. A second knock had us all glancing toward the door, none of us having a clue who'd be looking for us.

Colin shoved himself off the sofa he'd collapsed on, walking over to see who it was and what they wanted. He carried on a conversation with whoever stood out in the narrow hallway, before pushing the door open wider and stepping back to let our visitor in. "Hey, Jazz!" he shouted over the noise, "You got company."

Zack's massive frame filled the room when he entered.

"Hey, Zack! I didn't expect to see you here, man. I hope it was worth the trip." I walked over to greet him.

"Oh, hell yeah! You guys are some talented motherfuckers! Besides, I go wherever Mr. Volturi goes." He shoved his hands in his pockets, before continuing, "Speaking of which, he wants to see you out front at his table. I'd advise you not to keep him waiting too long. He's a busy man; he can't afford to waste his time, if you know what I mean."

I nodded. This was it. Preparing myself with a mental pep talk, I followed the burly roadie back out front to face my future.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Set List for this chapter:<strong>_

_**Fallin' In Love Again by Ivory Tower **_

_**Face Down in the Gutter by XYZ **_

_**Fire and Water by XYZ **_

_**Somebody's Waiting by Keel **_

_**Dreams on Fire by DARE **_

_**The Boys are Back in Town by Bon Jovi (my favorite version!)**_

_**Smokin' In the Boys Room by Motley Crüe**_

_**Hmmmmm... Wonder what Aro has to say now, after that stage show. Reviews get teasers, so if you want one for the next chapter, you know what to do.  
><strong>_


	5. Chapter 4

_**This is slash, that means boys playing with boys, in backrooms of poorly lit bars and clubs, on tour buses, and wherever else my fertile imagination decides it will be happening. If you aren't old enough to vote, hit that little red X and go back to playing Just Dance Kids on your Wii. **_

_**My eternal love and thanks to nails233 & butterflybetty for their amazing beta work and ongoing support! Smooches to secretsforme and rathbonejunkie for taking the time to pre-read and help me keep the story straight. **_

_**Most of all, thanks to all of you! I can't believe my little rock and roll wet dream is over 100 reviews already! THANK YOU! **_

_**Stephenie Meyer owns the character names, the bands in the end notes own their songs, but these sexy, hard-playing musicians are all the product of my over-fertile groupie imagination! **_

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 4<strong>

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

Traversing the steadily emptying club, an incongruous consideration entered my mind. With each step I took, I felt like John Coffey. The only thing missing was a voice calling out "Dead Man Walking". Stifling the nervous laugh the errant thought provoked, I tried to keep my mind focused on the upcoming conversation with Aro. If the reactions from the crowd were anything to go by, the guys and I had nailed the shit out of the set list. The remembered cheers helped stymie the vultures of fear that gnawed at my gut.

The guys from Fallen Angels were inundated by a crowd of people who'd finally recognized the celebrities in their midst. When I passed them, though, it didn't stop Eric from reaching through the cluster of fans to give me a high five, offering his hearty congratulations. Paul still looked annoyed, but gave me a grudging nod and a murmured "good show." Edward stood slightly removed from the others, his green eyes shadowed, while he signed some autographs. He didn't look up when I passed, but I could see the almost imperceptible straightening of his back. Yeah, Pretty Boy knew I saw him, even if he wouldn't acknowledge me.

When we reached the divider that separated the tables from the main club, Zack stood back to let me pass him. He then positioned himself at the entrance, presenting an effective barrier to prevent access to anyone Aro didn't want coming near while we talked. The brash executive still held the phone to his ear, while scrawling into a small notebook on the table in front of him. The brunette perked up, no doubt spotting fresh meat at my appearance. Without waiting for Aro's permission, I pulled out the chair across from him to sit down. I worked on the beer I'd brought from the dressing room, while trying to ignore the suggestive looks from the brunette. When that didn't work, she leaned over the table.

"I'm Angela." She waited, hand extended, for me to acknowledge her.

"Jazz. But then, you knew that, didn't you?" I asked, shooting her a pointed look.

Her hand dropped back to her lap, her eyes still dragging over my body like a lion sizing up its prey. Licking her lips, she flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"I get to listen to a lot of bands. Your style is different, unique. The lyrics are…inviting." She looked up at me through lowered lashes, trying again to get a reaction out of me.

_Save it for someone who might give a shit, sweetheart, _I thought to myself, while watching the steady stream of people filter out of the club. Realizing she was wasting her time, Angela shot me a dirty look, before flouncing back against the chair.

I heard Aro clear his throat, and returned my attention to the table. He still had the phone pressed to his ear, but held a finger up, letting me know he'd only be another minute.

"No, I don't give a shit about that. Just fucking fix it. I'll be back in New York tomorrow afternoon; I want a full report on my desk the following morning. Too fucking bad. You screwed it up, now you can get it right." He snapped the phone closed, tossing it down on the table.

"Everything okay, baby?" Angela sidled up closer to him, her long nails scratching down the front of his suit jacket, while she purred into his ear.

Plucking her fingers away, he shot her a disgusted look. "Did it sound like everything's okay? Why don't you do me a favor and go powder your nose or something. I need to talk business, and I need to do it without distractions."

Huffing, she stood up, glaring at me, before spinning on her heel. Zack stepped to the side to let her out, then assumed his position again, his arms crossed across his barrel-shaped chest. Amused, I watched her walk away, shaking my head at the ridiculously fake display of temper. She didn't give a shit about Aro; her only interest was in what he could do for her. It was pretty obvious he knew it, too, and had no qualms at all exploiting it.

"So, Jazz Whitlock," Aro's voice drew my attention back to the dark-haired, older man. "I gotta say, that was one hell of a show you put on up there. And you said this isn't your band?"

"No, sir, they're not. I do help them out on a regular basis, though, since their lead singer is a little…unreliable." I shrugged, not sure where the question was going. "Jake and I have been friends for years. We get together pretty often, anyway, mostly just to jam and play around with ideas."

"Hmmm." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table, his fingers folded together. "Jake's the beefy guy with black hair, right? The one who played lead on some of the songs? He's got some real talent, too."

"Yeah, that's Jake. He's good people; he just has real shitty taste in picking lead singers. This is the third one they've had in two years. I don't mind helping him out, though. It gives me a chance to work the kinks out of my stuff, too."

"Well, I'm not going to beat around the bush. It's late, I'm a busy man, and you've been working all day, so I'm sure you're tired." I sat up straighter. This was it. Either all my dreams were about to come true, or I'd still be slogging away at the amphitheater, pushing for another chance somewhere else. "The lyrics are good, the music is excellent, and you've got stage presence. You and your friends work well together, playing off each other and the crowd. Sun might be able to work with you. I'm not the final decision maker on that, though. I typically handle promoting the talent, not finding it."

I met his gaze, confusion knotting my stomach. "So, what's all that mean? Thanks, but no thanks? Don't call us, we'll call you? I'm not sure I get where you're coming from."

He chuckled, "It means, I saw some potential, but there are a few other people who would need to see you perform, too, in order to make that call." He reached into his suit pocket, retrieving a business card. He scrawled something on the back, before handing it to me. "Come Monday, you call the number on the back of the card. You tell Vicki I gave you that number, and you need an appointment to meet with Stephan Dragomir. Stephan's in charge of scouting; she's his assistant. From there, she'll take care of setting everything up. I'd suggest you talk to your buddies in the band. You're gonna need them when you come to New York."

"Wait, what? New York?"

"You didn't think they were going to come here, did you? Sorry, Jazz, but you have to put out some effort if you want to see results. Just be prepared to perform when you get there. Stephan is harder to impress than I am. You'd better make sure your set's tight."

Bristling at his words, I had to bite my tongue to keep from shooting off a smartass comment. _Cool it, Jazz. It's right there, you can almost touch it, just shut the fuck up!_ Taking the card from him, I flipped it over to see the barely legible writing on the reverse side. I tapped the edge of it on the table a couple times, then slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans. Standing, I extended my hand to Aro.

"Thanks for taking the time to come out to see us tonight, Mr. Volturi. I know it wasn't in your plans, and I appreciate you doing it. I'll be making that call on Monday; you can rest assured of that."

"See that you do." I started walking away when he called out to me, "Oh, and Jazz? When Sun signs you, don't forget who got you to New York."

I didn't miss the leer he shot my direction, but suppressed the shiver of revulsion that threatened to overcome me. With a slow nod, I turned away again, walking past Zack, who'd moved to one side. Accepting his murmured congratulations, I strode toward the bar, wanting a drink to wash away the bile that had built up in my throat.

Eric, Paul, and Edward were still surrounded by a crowd of people. Some of Marty's bouncers had moved in, though, working on getting the fans out the front door. I paused to watch Pretty Boy in action, willing him to meet my eyes. My efforts were rewarded when he glanced up, doing a double take when he noticed me watching him. His eyes blazed, then darkened again, followed by an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Fine, I'd play it his way. Lifting my bottle in salute, I walked away to find Tony and pack my gear.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

It took the larger part of another hour to get my shit stowed away and get Jake alone so I could talk to him. I'd waited until the rest of the guys bailed, before sitting him and Leah down to let them in on my conversation with Aro. Leah gripped Jake's hand, her mouth forming an 'O' while she tried to process what I told them.

"So wait a minute, Jazz. He wants you to call to set up an audition in New York? What about a band? Aro said you had to have one?" Jake looked shell-shocked.

"No, I don't _have_ to have a band, but Aro gave me the impression it'd be a bad idea to show up without one. I can see where he's coming from, since apparently my demo won't be enough; I'm gonna need to perform live for them, too. So, whatya say? Wanna come take a bite out of the Big Apple with me?" I grinned when Leah squealed in response.

"No shit, Jazz? You want me to come with you?" He looked pale, despite his natural coloring, his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed hard. He remained seated across from me, his eyes filling with trepidation, while his wife danced around the room.

"Dude, you know my music almost as well as I do. There isn't anyone else I'd want more. Besides, it wasn't just my songs we played up there tonight that impressed him; your stuff did the trick, too." I raked my hand through my hair, shoving the still damp strands off my face. "I'm gonna need your help; I can't do this alone. You know just as many talented musicians as I do, maybe more. We need to put together a group of guys we can count on, guys who are hungry. It's gonna take a shit-ton of dedication and hard work. We're gonna have to practice every day until they know the songs backward and forward. I figure, at most, we might have a month to get ready, probably less." I could see the gears working in his mind, his head nodding in agreement while I spoke. "What about your guys-Colin and Lucas? Do you think they could handle it?"

Jake's breath left him in a thoughtful hiss, whistling between his teeth. "Damn, bro, I don't know. Colin I'm pretty sure about, but Lucas…" He shrugged. "I don't know; he works hard for the band, but I'm not sure he'd want to take the risk. I mean, yeah, he's good, but I always got the impression it's just a hobby for him, even though he works his ass off. I guess all we can do is ask and see what happens. If not, we'll have to find someone else to handle skins." Leah returned to sit down with us, resting her head on Jake's shoulder, her eyes bright with excitement, while she watched her husband. "I got a couple guys in mind, though, and I'm not above poaching talent from another group if we need to. This is too big an opportunity to pass up." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clenched together. Balancing his chin on his fists, he stared at me. "I'm still in shock, Jazz." He shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around what I'd told him. "We're gonna be playing in front of record company execs in fucking _New York City_! I don't fucking believe it!"

"Well, believe it, man, 'cause it's really happening." I leaned over and slapped him on the arm, before gesturing to Leah, whose eyes were starting to drift closed. "But hey, it's late. Take your wife home; I'll give you a call tomorrow. That's soon enough to start figuring shit out. Ain't nothing we can do about it at three in the morning, anyway."

We stood up, Jake offering me a handshake, before pulling me close and whispering thanks in my ear. When he released me, I accepted a hug from Leah, promising to join them for dinner the next night. I never turned down an invitation from the two of them if I could avoid it. Besides my long-standing friendship with Jake, I enjoyed spending time with their little girl, Emily, too. Since being kicked out of my parents' house, Jake's family had become my own. They let me be me, with no judgments, something I'd never be able to repay them for. If the recording thing was a possibility, I'd do everything in my power to bring Jake along for the ride. I owed him at least that much and he deserved it just as much as I did. I watched the two of them walk out the door, Jake's arm wrapped around her shoulder, holding her close to his side. Even with all the shit they'd been through, no one could deny how much they loved each other. They'd made it work, against the odds. I wanted to help give them the life they deserved.

Picking up my last guitar case, I looked around the room to make sure we hadn't forgotten anything. Other than the overflowing ashtrays and a few empty beer bottles, we hadn't left the place much worse for wear. I flipped off the light, pulling the door closed behind me, and headed upstairs. Popping my head into Marty's office, I let him know we were all done and clearing out. He thanked me for a great set, before wishing me luck with the recording company. The guy never missed a trick; he'd probably known who Aro was the minute he walked in the door. We talked for a few minutes, before I ambled back downstairs and he returned his attention to his computer and paperwork.

Strolling through the darkened club, my mind milled through the events of the past few hours. Pausing by the stage, I wondered what the future held in store for me, Jake, and whoever else came with us to New York. I could feel the winds of change blowing. Somehow, someway, I knew that trip would be the key to making our dreams come true. Running my hand across the club's stacks of amplifiers, I looked back out toward the main room. I'd played dozens of shows in that building, and come damn close to giving up more times than I could count on both hands. I'd never imagined, in all of those performances, that I might find my golden ticket in that room.

With a poignant sigh, I continued down the long hallway that led out to the parking lot. I picked through the songs we'd played, revisiting the ones that had gotten the biggest reactions from the crowd. I didn't discount Tribe's songs, either. Those crowd favorites were the ones we'd need to play in New York; they'd demonstrate the possible commercial appeal of our music. While I'd made the contact with Aro, if Jake hadn't been willing to work with me, none of my efforts would have mattered. No way would I leave my boy behind. We were in it together and I wanted us to see it through to the end on an equal footing.

Pushing open the battered steel door, I scoped the parking lot. The neighborhood around the Viper Room wasn't the best in the city. More than one guy had been jumped in the parking lot by desperate junkies looking for the cash to fund their next fix. Leaving the club that late at night, I knew I needed to pay attention to my surroundings. The last thing I wanted was to become another statistic, not when shit was finally on the right track in my life.

The only cars remaining in the deserted lot were my Camaro and Marty's beat-up Beemer. Letting the door slam shut behind me, I hefted my guitar, tightening my grip on the thick handle, while I strode in hurried steps toward my car. Unlocking the trunk, I slid the case inside, checking to make sure everything was secure before reaching up to slam it closed. Turning toward the driver's side door, engrossed in my own thoughts, I didn't notice a shift in the shadows along the back of the building. I opened the car and slid inside, putting my keys in the ignition before reaching to close the door. A hand grasping the frame brought me up short, while a quiet, disembodied voice floated out over the desolate, early morning silence.

"Wait. We need to talk."

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

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><p><em><strong>Set list for this chapter: <strong>_

_**Falling in and Out of Love by Femme Fatale**_

_**Love Has Taken Its Toll by Saraya **_

_**Nothing Else Matters by Metallica **_

_**You Can Still Rock in America by Night Ranger**_

_**I'm On To You by Hurricane**_

_**Reviewers receive a tease of the next chapter, so please do if you want a sneak peek!  
><strong>_


	6. Chapter 5

_**This is slash, that means boys playing with boys, in backrooms of poorly lit bars and clubs, on tour buses, and wherever else my fertile imagination decides it will be happening. If you aren't old enough to vote, hit that little red X and go find another sandbox to play in. **_

_**Big puffy hearts to nails233 & butterflybetty, for their amazing beta work and ongoing support! Thanks to rathbonejunkie and AtHome Jo for making sure the story stays plausible.**_

_**Stephenie Meyer owns the character names, the bands in the end notes own their song lyrics, but these sexy, hard-playing musicians are all the product of my over-fertile groupie imagination! **_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 5<strong>

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

My heart pounded against my chest, apprehension replaced by anticipation. I pulled my hand away from the keys, leaving them hanging in the ignition, while I turned to step back outside. He took a quick step backward, giving me room to exit the car, his hand still gripping the top of the door. The feeble gleam of the flickering light on the back of the building shadowed the expression on his face.

"I've been waiting out here for hours," he whispered, his voice husky from a night of singing and inhaling the smoke from the crowded club.

"Well, if I'd known you were out here, I might have moved a little faster," I retorted, taking a step closer to him.

"You guys are good, really fucking good. A helluva lot better than a dive bar hidden on the backstreets of Philadelphia. Sun can give you that, but don't sell your soul to do it, Jazz." He slumped against the door of the car, his knuckles shining white in the dim lamplight from the intensity of his grip on the window frame. "I know how Aro works; I saw what he offered, not what I'd have to do to get it. Don't do it. It'll destroy your soul and rip the heart right out of our music. You're so much better than that."

"Aro and Sun are the last things on my mind right now." The rasp in my voice underscored the implications of my words.

It was only part true. The opportunity from Sun rattled around in the back of my mind, but the man standing in front of me consumed my immediate future. I wanted Edward Masen, more than I'd ever wanted anyone else. Stepping closer to him, my fingers brushed along the lapels of his short denim jacket. His breath escaped him in quick huffs, assuring me I wasn't the only person wanting. Leaning into him, our eyes almost level, I saw the flare of heat before my eyes closed. The sudden rush of cold air when he stepped back shocked me out of my Edward-induced stupor.

"Aren't you listening to me? We can't do this, Jazz." He gestured into the air between us, resignation and regret filling his voice. "There's too much at stake; I have too much to lose if the truth gets out."

Frustrated, I wrenched the door from his hand, slamming it shut.

"Then what the hell are you doing here? It's late, I'm tired. I don't feel like having a tête à tête in a grungy parking lot, so say what you have to say and let me go home and get to bed."

"I wanted to give you a warning. I don't know how out you are around here, but when you get to New York, I'd suggest you push your secret back in the closet."

"Seriously?" I lifted my eyebrow, amused by his double entendre. "What fucking difference does it make?" Even in the midst of my protest, I knew my proclivities were an issue I'd need to make some decisions about. What I didn't appreciate was some uptight, closeted prick telling me how to live my life.

"Jazz, you know how this business works. You aren't just selling records; you're selling the fantasy. The publicist is going to play on your looks, portraying you as the next big heart throb. The young girls will swoon; their mothers will plot how to get in your pants. It's just the way it is. If they find out you're gay, it destroys their illusions, which in turn hurts Sun's bottom line when they stop buying your records." He shoved his hands into the pockets on his jacket, drawing it closed, trying to ward off the pathetic reality of his half-life. "Face it, its one thing for them to believe you're elusive because of your stardom; it's completely different for them to know you're unattainable because you prefer men." He took a step back, leaning against the hood of my car. "Trust me; I fucking know what I'm talking about."

I walked a few steps away from him, his words reverberating in my mind. Who the fuck did he think he was, coming here, to _my world,_ to tell me how to live my life? Pissed, I whirled around to confront him.

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" My voice carried across the abandoned parking lot, causing him to flinch. Asshole! So fucking worried about being 'exposed.' Such a fucking hypocrite! "You think you can come here and try to tell me about who I am and what I should or shouldn't do? That's fucking rich! Whether or not I choose to be open about my life is none of your fucking business. If you're that fucking insecure that you choose to live a lie, that's your problem, NOT mine." Gathering a head of steam, I got right in his face, jabbing my finger in his chest. "I've got news for you, Pretty Boy; I'm not some clueless hick. My dad threw me out at eighteen, with barely a penny in my pocket, when he found out I was gay. I'm willing to bet cold hard cash that the only people who know about you are the tricks you find in obscure backroom bars." He flinched, confirming my suspicions. "Yeah, I fucking thought so. So don't you try to give me that shit about truth."

We glared at each other, the air between us snapping with undercurrents of tension and lust. He shook his head, trying to deny it.

"You don't…," he began, before I interrupted.

"I don't what? I don't understand? I understand plenty. I didn't imagine the eye-fucks at the amphitheater, or the ones inside either. You want this too, Edward. You want it just as much as I do. I'm not a fucking toy, though. You can deny it all you want to yourself, but deny it while remembering this."

Fisting my hands in the denim of his jacket, I jerked him against me, my lips clashing with his in a rush of anger. Brutal, punishing, I claimed his mouth, forcing his lips back against his teeth, until with a moaning whimper, he opened for me. My tongue swept the inside of his mouth, gliding across the rough edges of his teeth, delving deeper to taste the acrid smoke and bitter tang of beer that coated his tongue. When he accepted the invasion, his tongue joining in the questing depths of the kiss, I pushed him back against the hood of my car, my body still molded against his. Edward's mouth moved under mine, pulling on my lips, suckling one then the other. Easing my thigh between his splayed legs, I ground my throbbing dick into his hip, groaning at the biting pressure of the zipper between us. His answering undulation against my leg spurred me on. Releasing my grip on the jacket, I tangled one hand in the back of his hair, unrelenting in the passion I poured into him. The other hand twisted in the bandana wrapped around his lean hips, tugging him closer, the blazing need that ate at me begging to crawl inside of him. While our mouths mauled each other, I felt long tapered fingers dig into my hips. My shirt was tugged free of my waistband, cold air sending shivers up my spine, causing me to push even more into the warmth that engulfed the front of my body.

We both struggled to breathe through our noses, neither of us willing to concede to the need for air. Of their own volition, my questing fingers slid inside his waistband, seeking the silken steel of the washboard abdomen that the tight fabric had only served to accentuate all night long. Ragged groans were muffled deep in our throats, each of us fighting for control. Control of what, though? Ourselves, each other, or our own lives? None of it mattered, not when I felt his restraint snap. My fumbling fingers brushed against the knot of fabric over the button of his fly. Desperation dismissed all rational thought when I palmed him through the skin-tight denim. His teeth sunk into my lip, the pressure a delicious pain accompanying the tightening coil that had centered around my dick.

The intrusive, mournful wail of a distant freight train whistle brought us back to reality. Suddenly shoving me off him, Edward punched his hand down against the front quarter panel of the Camaro, the metal immovable under the force of the blow.

Motherfucking…son of a bitch!" Cradling his hand, he kicked out at the tire. When I tried to step closer to him, he glared at me, anger, anguish, and pain haunting the emerald depths of his eyes, stopping me in my tracks.

"No!" He backed away, sidling around the hood of the car. "I'm not doing this. You're not worth risking it all, Jazz; no one is." Taking two halting steps, he broke into a run, barreling toward the front of the club.

"Go ahead, run, you fucking coward!" I yelled after him. "You can't escape who you are, though, no matter how much you want to ignore it. Every time you try, I'll be there, haunting you, reminding you what a fucking pathetic life you chose!"

The sound of a car door slamming was the only reply to my taunt, followed by the sight of a limo careening past the building and out of the parking lot. Without thinking, I picked up a chunk of gravel and threw it after the retreating taillights. I kicked out at the bumper of the Camaro, the worn sole of my battered chucks doing nothing to deflect the tingling spike of pain that shot through my ankle. Limping to the door, I yanked it open, slipping in and gunning the engine to life. Slamming the gearshift into first, I punched the gas pedal, my other foot popping off the clutch. The powerful engine surged, the rear tires spinning across the loose asphalt to skid sideways. Instinctively jerking the wheel to correct the slide, I recovered control of the car, before pausing to gain control of myself. Slapping the flat of my hand against the header, I vented all of my fury at Edward, Aro, Sun Music, and finally myself, for being stupid enough to open myself to someone who'd never meet me halfway.

I wasn't worried about losing the chance with Sun; Edward would never risk exposing himself. Determined, I made a vow to myself. I'd go to New York, sell Sun on my music, and get my contract, but I'd do it all on my terms. No lies, no secrets, no bullshit. I'd have it all - billboards, magazine covers, albums, interviews. Everywhere he turned, Edward would see my face. He'd see me, and he'd remember that he walked away.

* * *

><p><strong><em>I know updates are running slow. Between FAGE, kids, school, and the holidays, I can barely think. A nasty long term cold and a computer meltdown have not helped the situation one bit. While I am on break during the holidays, I hope to be able to knock out several updates on everything so I can get ahead of the game. I make no promises of any updates, other than Lost Highway, before the first of the year, but anything is possible. <em>**

** _I am donating an original short one shot to the Toys4Tots Christmas Wishes compilation. If you've read the Twi-25 drabbles I've been working on, you've already seen the inspiration for it. _ _A $5 minimum donation gets you the entire compilation, and there is some major talent offering up stories for your enjoyment. Mistyhaze420, owenic, KellanCougar, and Jasper1863Hale—and that's just a taste of the slashy ones! _**

**_Donate today—help keep the Spirit of Christmas alive for a child. _ _Christmaswishescompilation(DOT)blogspot(DOT)com_**


	7. Chapter 6

_***peeks in to see if anyone is still around* Yeah, I know – I've been a little consumed elsewhere lately, but I have to write what's flowing at the time. And to be honest, our Jazz does NOT like for my attention to be divided when he is talking to me. Luckily, once he forgave me for my interest in the other boys, he hasn't stopped talking. **_

_**Much love and thanks to rathbonejunkie and AtHome Jo for their incomparable pre-reading skills and willingness to be a sounding board while I work out the fine points. Eternal gratitude to nails233 for betaing on the fly so you wouldn't have to wait any longer. **_

_**All past disclaimers and warnings apply. If you have a problem, please press the red X. There are plenty of other stories available. **_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 6<strong>

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

Putting the car back in gear, I cranked the stereo, in hopes that the pounding bass would drown out my thoughts. Yeah, right. No fucking luck there. With each block that passed on the thirty minute trip home, Edward's words and contrary actions played through my mind; a continuous loop that emphasized how wrong I'd been and how fucked up he was. By the time I turned into the alley behind the house, my body vibrated with pent-up rage.

The tires barked when I stomped the brake and dropped the gear shift to neutral. I shut off the engine, the sudden absence of sound creating a reverberating echo in my ears. The leather cover on the steering wheel squeaked under my hands while I wrenched them around it, trying to get my shit under control. Deep, heaving breaths filled the air, the heated breath fogging up the windows chilled by the cool temperature of the late spring night.

"Son of a bitch!" I slammed my hand into the dash, then repeated the action twice more. Fury consumed me until a jolt of pain shot up my arm, followed by a tingling sensation in my elbow. "FUCK!" Dragging in a gulping breath, my nostrils flared while I tried to calm the fuck down. "Smooth fucking move, Whitlock," Muttering to myself, I rotated my wrist, wincing at the pain. Thank fuck, I still had a full range of motion. "Chance of a fucking lifetime and you're gonna dick it up over a pretty face? What the hell?"

Still favoring my arm, I reached across the steering wheel with my left hand and removed the keys from the ignition, before opening the door. The sound of the slamming door bounced around in the empty alley, until it was whisked away on a sudden breeze. I debated leaving my guitars in the trunk, but thought better of it. Cars were broken into all the time in this neighborhood and people knew I was a musician. It wasn't worth the risk. Pulling all three cases out, I left the travel amp and my duffle. They could have my sweaty coveralls from the amphitheater if they were that fucking desperate.

By the shrouded light of the moon, I jiggled the key into the lock to open the heavy steel door to my basement apartment. Setting down the case in my hand, I slid my hand across the interior wall to find the light switch. Light flooded the stairwell, and I grabbed the other two cases to bring them inside, before I kicked the door shut behind me. I set the locks, picked up the case to my Gibson Nighthawk, then, exhausted, I walked down the narrow, steep stairs.

My apartment was more like the basement version of a loft. The owners had removed the interior staircase, making my outside entrance the only access to the space. When I first moved in, there had been no walls to break up the expansive space, other than where the bathroom had been installed. I'd gotten permission to soundproof the ceiling and put up a few divider walls to create a makeshift studio in one corner. I'd also found an old sliding warehouse door at the junkyard and between me, Jake, and a couple of the guys he worked with, we'd installed it next to the bathroom to divide my 'bedroom' off from the main space. It wasn't much to look at, but it served my needs well enough and didn't cost me a shit ton of money.

Setting the guitar case on the battered brown sectional Jake and Leah had given me, I turned on the lamp on the end table and toed off my chucks to leave them by the stairwell. Without thinking, I braced my hand on the wall to hold my balance, triggering a twinge in my arm. I twisted my wrist around a few more times, flexing my fingers in and out of a fist. The pain eased as fast as it came; a few Tylenol would knock it out in no time.

Padding into the kitchen, I checked it again under the brighter light for any signs of swelling. Seeing none, I found the bottle of pills in the cupboard, and pulled a carton of orange juice out of the fridge. I drank straight from the carton, washing down the pills, and then finished off what juice was left. When I walked over to throw the carton out, I saw the time display on the microwave. Three forty-five. Fuck my life. I'd been up and going since eight the day before, no wonder my ass was dragging. I needed a shower and some sleep, in that order. The next day would be soon enough for figuring out everything else.

On my way past the table, I turned off the lamp, letting the feeble moon that shone through the egress window light my way. Reaching the bedroom, I plugged my phone in to charge and pulled my shirt over my head. The smell of sweat and stale cigarette smoke permeated every pore of my body, but, when the front of my shirt dragged across my nose, an earthy spice overpowered the other odors. My dick twitched in response to the heady scent. _Edward._ I threw the shirt across the room, wishing the memories of him were as easily disposed of. My jeans followed, along with my balled up socks. Naked, I slid back the pocket door for the bathroom.

The owners had not skimped on the bathroom, creating a space that would have looked more at home in the million dollar condos they were throwing up in Center City. A large, glass walled dual head shower dominated one side of the room, while a claw foot tub reclined under a four foot long egress window on the back wall. Across from the shower were a basin sink set on a black countertop and the commode, with a low wall separating the two.

Turning on the water, I adjusted the temperature and stepped in without waiting for it to warm up. I stuck my head under the water streaming out of the front showerhead, while the back one pounded on the muscles in my lower back. I soaped my hair, tilting my head back under the water to rinse it out. When I closed my eyes against the streaming lather, memories of the shit from the club ran through my mind, the feel of Edward's body and lips bringing my senses back to full alert. I groaned, wishing I could get him out of my mind.

Grabbing the body wash from the built in shelf, I squirted some into the palm of my hand. The smell of sandalwood and musk surrounded me while I soaped my torso. Every stroke became a tacit reminder of the way Edward had touched me, his hands grazing my skin when he'd tugged at my shirt to get closer to me. I shook my head, trying to make him go away, while I vigorously scrubbed to erase the memory of his body on mine.

I braced my hands against the tiles in front of me and let the water sluice through my hair and down my body. The hot water did nothing for the tension that had built up in my neck and coursed through the rest of my body. Leaving one hand on the wall, I reached down and grabbed my cock. Images of Edward filled my mind: him leaning against the wall in the dressing room, straddling the chair at the Viper Room, the languid way he strutted across the room, and the way he'd felt pressed up against me on the hood of my car. I slid my hand up my rod, twisting and rubbing my palm across the tip, then back down again. The lingering soap on my body made my skin slick, my hand sliding easily along my throbbing length. I gripped harder and closed my eyes, hating that the only thoughts filling my mind were of a man who'd ran from having anything to do with me.

Leaning my forehead on the wall, I grabbed my balls with my other hand, massaging and tugging them. My breathing grew more ragged the closer I came to my release. I remembered long tapered fingers – wrapped around a beer bottle, tangled in my hair, digging into my hips. Imagining them wrapped around my cock, while I slid between those rosy lips, had me trembling, desire coiling like a snake about to strike. Suddenly, in my mental fantasy, emerald green eyes sparkled up at me from under dark lashes and I was done. A deep guttural moan escaped my lips, while thick opaque spurts of come painted the tiles in front of me.

I closed my eyes again, my chest aching. Aching for what, though? Edward? I didn't even fucking know him and he'd never be an option in my life if he couldn't accept himself. A lost opportunity? Maybe. But, I wasn't blowing the chance at making my dreams a reality, and I'd fucking do it on my terms. I shivered, realizing the water had gone cold while I'd struggled to get my head out of my ass. I rinsed my body and the wall, turned off the water, and stepped out onto the cold floor. Grabbing a towel from the cupboard by the door, I scrubbed it across my head, then toweled off my body, before dropping it on the floor. I didn't have any energy left to give a fuck about anything but sleep.

I walked back into my room and crawled into bed. The cotton sheets were cold against my naked skin, but soon warmed up from the heat radiating off my body. Punching the pillow up under my head, I closed my eyes and willed myself to dream about New York, the future, and my name in lights.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

I woke with a groan a few short hours later. My dick throbbed, my morning wood fueled by dreams of emerald eyes and long, denim-clad legs. I wasn't going there again. After dragging on sweats and an old Aerosmith t-shirt, I dug my cross trainers out of the closet. I ignored the ache in my wrist, knowing it wasn't anything more than a deep bruise, since I could move it with minimal difficulty. Collecting my wallet and keys, I dropped them into my pocket, before heading out to run off the tension that coursed through me. My nerves were so on edge; I knew they'd snap at the slightest provocation. I wouldn't accomplish shit if I didn't pull my head together.

Hitting the sidewalk, I walked to the park to warm up, then broke into a jog when I reached the path that meandered through it. My feet pounded the pavement, the steady tattoo keeping time with my heartbeat. I focused my thoughts on the things Jake and I needed to talk about, relegating Edward to the far recesses of my mind. I wouldn't allow my conscious thoughts to obsess over him; I couldn't afford the mental effort I'd expend trying to decipher someone I doubted I'd ever understand.

It was early, the park still nearly deserted, aside from the few diehards that I knew ran there every morning. I fell into an easy rhythm, making several laps around the park before I began to tire. Slowing to a walk, I gripped my sides, letting my head lull back while I dragged in several deep breaths. _Fuck! I need to quit smoking_, I thought, then snickered. No matter how many times I'd told myself the same thing, I didn't see it happening anytime soon. Once my breathing regulated, I found a bench and sank onto it. The run had helped clear the bullshit out of my head and I could finally form a coherent thought.

I had a good dozen or so songs that hadn't made it on the demo, a handful of which Jake had helped write. While none of the other guys knew them, I wondered if we might be able to tighten up one or two before the showcase. I suddenly itched to get to Jake's place and start planning our next steps. Even without the showcase date, a ton of other shit could get worked out – like a line-up and set list.

With a course of action in place, I jogged back home and grabbed a quick shower. I dressed in a battered pair of jeans that had seen better days and a black wifebeater, covered with a sliced up t-shirt from some local band that had crashed and burned a few years back. I found my chucks by the steps where I'd left them and checked the time. It was going on ten o'clock. Even if Leah's mom had kept Emily overnight, they'd be up. Grabbing the guitar I hadn't touched once I got home the night before, I hauled it back upstairs and loaded all three cases back into the trunk, before taking off toward Jake's.

On the way, I stopped at a small mom and pop bakery and picked up a box of doughnuts, then the florist and grabbed flowers for Leah. I did it every time I went over, just to see her smile. The fact that she gave Jake so much shit when I did was pure bonus. Crossing the bridge to Palmyra, I drove through the older, established neighborhood toward the small, three bedroom brick ranch where my friends lived. Emily's playhouse sat in the shade of a large tree in the front yard, the swing we'd installed for her last summer swaying gently in the light breeze that blew in off the Delaware River.

Parking in front of the house, I grabbed the pastry box and flowers and locked up the car. I'd come back out later for my guitars. Whistling while I walked up the front walk, I saw a pair of black pigtails dancing along behind the screen door. Before I could reach the door, it flew open and a three foot tall hurricane of pink and black exploded from within to encircle my thighs.

"Uncle J!" she screamed, followed by a giggling shout when I swooped her up with one arm.

"How's my favorite ankle biter?" I teased, chucking when she gave me the same evil eye her mother often used. Tiny hands clasped my cheeks while she leaned in close and bussed a kiss on my lips.

"I's fine Uncle J. What'd ya bring me?"

My answer was cut off by Leah's voice drifting out the front door, her annoyance obvious.

"Emily Claire Black! Why is my front door hanging wide open?" Leah stopped fussing when she peeked outside to see me standing there holding the precocious little girl. "Ahh, you're here, that explains it. Her favorite toy has arrived." Leah leaned up and kissed me on the cheek, then looked at the flowers and box. "You come bearing bribes? What did you do now?"

"Aw, not fair! I always bring my second favorite girl flowers." Leah huffed then laughed when Emily insisted she was the favorite. I gave the little girl another kiss and handed my gifts to Leah. "The box is a peace offering for invading your house so early. I had too much going on in my mind and needed to come talk it out with Jake… and maybe a few things with you, if you can spare the time."

Leah leveled a knowing look at me. She shooed me inside and told Emily to go play while the grown–ups talked. Seeing a pout forming on the little girl's lips, I whispered in her ear, eliciting a giggle and a smile. She whispered back and I nodded, before I set her down. With a final wave, she skipped down the hall and disappeared into her room. Leah just shook her head when I turned my attention back to her.

"I'm not sure who has who more wrapped around their little finger." When I nodded my head in the direction of Emily's room, she laughed then walked toward the kitchen. "Come on, I just made fresh coffee. Jake ran to pick up some parts from the junkyard, so we have a little while before he gets back. I'm guessing it's a guy/guy relationship thing if you need to talk to me." Leah laid the box of doughnuts on the counter, reached in the cupboard for a coffee cup and handed it to me, before finding a vase. "Alright spill it. You have dark circles under your eyes, and I know when we left the Viper Room, you were alone and the only person still there was Marty, who is not only straight, but not your type. What you'd do, make a booty call?"

I spluttered, spitting hot coffee all over the counter. Grabbing the dishcloth, I cleaned up my mess. Grateful that I could tell Leah anything and it would stay between us, I talked while she trimmed the flowers and arranged them. I filled her in on everything that had happened at the amphitheater and the confrontation between Edward and me in the parking lot at the club. To her credit, she listened without interjecting, though her eyebrows shot straight to her hairline when I mentioned Edward's name. By the time I finished, the frustrations from the night before had returned, along with a case of nerves over the possibility that Edward might've been right. If I held to my guns about not hiding the fact that I was homosexual, would I screw over my best friends in the process? For the first time, I considered the possibility of lying – until Leah punched me in the arm.

"Ow! What the fuck, Lee?" I rubbed the spot where her fist had connected.

"Do NOT even think about it. I can read you like a book." Leah grabbed my wrist when I tried to turn away. "I'm serious, Jazz. You scrabbled and made do after your dad tossed you out with fucking nothing, and you did it on your terms. While you may not be openly out, you've never lied if someone asked you outright. You sure as hell aren't going to start now out of some misplaced sense of loyalty." She pulled me closer for a hug. "Edward is wrong. You can live your life the way you want, and still get the recognition you deserve for your talent, not just because you're the 'hot, new gay rock star.'" Leah stepped back and folded her arms over her chest with a knowing smirk. "Besides, women think that shit is hot."

"Think what's hot, babe?" Jake's voice floated through the arched entryway, giving me time to collect my jaw off the floor, where it had fallen after Leah's last comment.

"Oh nothing, sweetheart, just guys kissing other guys," she airily replied, kissing him on the cheek when she passed him while leaving the room.

"Wait, what?" Incredulous, Jake looked between his departing wife and me, his face wearing the same look of disbelief I was certain covered mine, too. "Jazz, are you corrupting my wife?"

"Dude, I have no fucking idea where that came from, but I think your wife is a goddess and you'd better be damn glad I'm completely into dicks, 'cause otherwise –" Jake cut me short, putting his hand up to stop my train of thought.

"Don't. Even. Say. It. Jazz. I know where your mind is going, and our friendship does not extend that far." While his tone brooked no argument, I could hear the undercurrent of laughter, too.

"We're good, bro. What's left of your wife's virtue is safe from me, though after that comment…" I stopped short and laughed at the look he shot me, then shoved the box across the counter. "I brought junk food to appease Leah for showing up so damn early. My brain's in hyper-drive and I knew you'd be able to help me sort this shit out."

"The door's always open, Jazz, you know that. Want to talk in here or take it out to the garage?" he asked while pulling an éclair out of the box.

When I told him about the song ideas, we decided to carry it outside where we could hook up the amps and jam, too. I finished my coffee and stuck the cup in the sink, before pulling my keys out of my pocket to go grab my guitars out of the car. At the sound of them jingling, Emily came running out to the kitchen to remind me of my promise. I winked, letting her know I hadn't forgotten, with the assurance that I wasn't going anywhere for a few hours.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Set-list for this chapter: <strong>_

_**I'll See You in My Dreams by Giant**_

_**Dreaming (Tell Me) by Yngwie Malmsteen**_

_**Never Again by Nickelback**_

_**Dirty Secrets by Guiffria**_

_****o.O.o.O.o.O.o****_

_**AtHome Jo and I were talking and we thought a blog might be needed for this story to keep everyone straight and get the visuals down. Unfortunately, neither of us have the skillset to pull it off. Anyone interested in helping me out? Once its up, I can handle the basics – I think. PM and let me know.**_

_**So, how do y'all feel about Leah's words of wisdom? Anyone want to adopt Emily? Please let me know y'all are still here! **_


	8. Outtake EPOV The Kiss

** EPOV of the kiss that set in motion Jasper's determination to become a star and Edward's despair of ever escaping the confines of his own star status. Can they overcome the obstacles in their way, or will one ill-fated kiss be all they have?Donated to the Fandom against Autism compilation, at the request of my lovely beta, nails233.  
><strong>

_**One Night Alone **_

_**EPOV to Chapter 5**_

The denim jacket I wore over my t-shirt provided little protection against the wind that blew through the deserted parking lot. I'd stood in the shadows outside the back door of the Viper Room for the better part of two hours, after mixing in with the crowd leaving the club earlier. Fucking ridiculous! I'm twenty- three years old, with a fucking recording contract, my face on hundreds of magazines, yet I'm forced to act like a child sneaking out after curfew. Frustrated, I kicked out at a cement pylon, its bright yellow paint glowing in the thready light that shone from the lone working lamppost. Dealing with Aro made me feel like I'd sold my soul to the devil. Sad to say, I wasn't willing to give up everything I'd gained, either. But, damn, if I could save one person from the same fate that would be fair penance, right?

So I lingered, waiting for him to leave the club.

**_*ONA*_**

Fucking hell! When Paul had tripped over him on the steps backstage, I'd thought he was just some punk kid working a part time job. It still didn't give Paul the right to treat him like shit, so I told the kid to ignore it. Then he turned around. No kid I'd ever gone to school with had looked like that.

He looked to be near my height, with a mop of shaggy dark blond hair that he'd cropped back with an elastic band. Summer green eyes, flecked with golden brown sunlight, met mine for the briefest of moments, before they traversed the length of my body, undressing me on their slow ascent back to my face. I swallowed reflexively, fighting the lump in my throat. The other guys had moved away, heading down the back corridor toward the dressing rooms. None of them knew the truth, and I couldn't risk it. I'd muttered something about a shower and walked away, the heat from his gaze searing the length of my spine to coil at the base; the familiar burn something I'd lived without far too long.

By the time I'd showered and pulled on the clothes the stylist had unceremoniously shoved into my hands, I'd been more than ready for a beer, or six. Grabbing a bottle out of one of the many barrel-shaped coolers, I retreated to a corner of the dressing room, biding my time until I could escape. I fucking hated the shit that went on after the concerts. It was the worst part of the lie I lived. Groupies were paraded into the dressing room for the band, a veritable treasure trove of Sluts-r-Us, willing to do any perverted shit the guys came up with. Pornos had less sex and debauchery than one of our after parties. I'd been propositioned for everything under the sun, and suffered through shit for the sake of my image that I'd been too embarrassed to write into my journal. I'd hoped if I drank myself into a stupor, I could avoid the more aggressive chicks who wouldn't take no for an answer.

Oblivion would've kept me from the monumental mistake of standing in a godforsaken parking lot at almost three o'clock in the morning. Then again, if I had any kind of a spine, I wouldn't have been at the club to begin with. I would've stood up to Aro for the first time in a fucking year and refused to make the trek to the Viper Room to watch some unknown band play that I didn't fucking give a shit about. Hell, we'd been on the road for almost four months. I could've feigned exhaustion and just gone back to the hotel room. Instead, I'd given into every wrong reason in the world to be there. It hadn't been about the music, though I couldn't deny the guy had more fucking talent than most of the bands out there. It hadn't even been about sizing up the competition, or getting to know a possible label mate. It had been _him._

Jazz Whitlock had my senses on high alert the minute he stepped into the dressing room. I'd thought him attractive when I'd first seen him in the hazy, dim light behind the stage, but in street clothes the man became hypnotic. The sleeves had been cut off of his black t-shirt, the side seams slashed open halfway down, and the well-worn, heavily faded jeans fit him like a second skin. He'd removed the elastic band from his hair, the dark blond, tousled waves softening the rugged angles of his face. When I'd lifted the bottle to take another drink, my eyes met his and I felt the same searing heat from earlier return. Then he licked his lips. Every coherent thought fled except for one — I wanted him. And with that want came regret, because I'd never be able to have him.

Instead, being the masochist I'd become, I'd devoured him from behind hooded eyes while he talked to the suits. I'd watched him work Aro like a pro, the nerves only showing in the reflexive movements he'd made – rubbing a sweaty palm on his leg before shaking someone's hand, the subtle clenching of his fingers into a fist, then the visible shift in his posture when Aro had walked over to the CD player. Through it all, that arrogant, self-assured smirk had stayed firmly in place.

When he'd stood up to Aro, all but outright telling the man he didn't need Sun, Sun needed him, I'd fought the urge to cheer him on. In the year that Aro had been playing puppet master with my life, I'd never seen someone put the arrogant prick in his place. Aro's jaw had tightened at the gauntlet that had been thrown by someone he considered a nobody in his books. Standing in front of all those damn suits from the label, though, he'd had no choice but to plaster on a fake smile and laugh off the challenge. Everyone in that room knew we'd just been given a sneak peek at someone who could change the course of rock music.

No one liked Aro. He was a fucking snake, without a single trustworthy bone in his body. The list of people who'd be willing to take him down, if given the opportunity, was extensive. But the bastard had enough dirt on the right people that his reign of terror had gone unchecked and unquestioned. It didn't mean his enemies weren't looking for the right opportunity. If he'd have let Jazz walk out that door without getting some more information, a bird would have been twittering in Stephan Dragomir's ear before the sun rose, and he'd have had Aro's nuts for breakfast, with a side of eggs and toast.

I'd watched Jazz slip into an easy banter with Eric after Aro left, hungrily taking in ever flash of emotion that crossed his face. Apprehension, bemusement, confidence — all played out in mesmerizing fashion while he talked with my band mate. Over the din, I caught snippets of their conversation - Jazz inviting Eric to the club, then telling him to keep the CD. Not fucking likely. I'd planned to have it out of the player before anyone gave it a second thought. Then I watched him pick his way back through the crowd, my eyes never losing sight of his retreating form. I'd wanted to store every impression of him I could, so I could take them out someday in the future, when the crowds had faded and I found myself left with nothing but memories of what I'd had and what I'd given up to get it.

When Jazz had paused to find me across the room again; he'd winked and nodded in Eric's direction — a silent invitation to come to the show. Shocked by his blatant insinuation, my eyes had flown open, before I recovered and shrugged in response. While I'd schooled my features to feign indifference, I couldn't hide my body's response in the skin tight jeans I wore. I'd shifted, trying to hide my erection, earning an arrogant smirk from him before he'd sauntered out the door.

I'd decided almost immediately that I'd go with Eric, but the last thing I'd needed was Aro figuring out why. He'd have used it against me, just one more errant indiscretion that he'd add to his list that kept me under his thumb. Aro had suspected my homosexuality from the first time he'd met the band. The bastard was so fucking arrogant; he'd made a play for me the first chance he'd had, thinking I'd jump at the opportunity to secure our contract. I wasn't stupid, I knew where the final decision would be made, but I'd also known Aro could influence that decision going in our favor. I'd strung him along until we were signed, thinking we'd be well-shed of him after and I'd get of scots free. Rookie fucking mistake. Fallen Angels was added to Aro's stable of acts to work with, probably through his own machinations. I'd been forced to pay the piper, at his convenience, ever since. If he'd even had a hint of suspicion that my attention had been drawn elsewhere, he'd have done everything in his power to ensure that door of opportunity was chained shut.

Bearing that in mind, I'd protested my ass off about having to make the trip across town to the Viper Room, once Aro cornered me alone to insist I go with him. The stupid fuck had thought I'd been jealous of the eye candy he hauled around for appearance's sake. Fucking hardly! That ignorant twat Angela was more than welcome to him, with my blessing. He'd told me she meant nothing, patting my cheek like he would a petulant child, then told me the limo would be waiting out back. Playing it up, I insisted on riding with Eric and the guys, and it had shocked me when Aro agreed. I'd begun formulating my escape from that minute on.

**_*ONA*_**

When we'd entered the limo at the concert venue, Eric had asked the driver how long we'd have access to the cars, in case they'd decided to keep partying out on the town. The driver said three cars were at our disposal until the flight left the next morning. Once we'd reached the Viper Room, I'd asked him to make arrangements for another car to come for me, since I didn't plan on whoring around with the other guys. The driver had nodded, and pulled out a radio to make the request. I'd gratefully accepted the info on the new car, slipping the guy a benjamin to thank him for the effort.

Walking through the black, double doors of the club had been like being assailed by my past. I'd played joints just like it all throughout Chicago when we were still struggling to get noticed. Crowded with people shoving toward the stage, filled with the haze of flash pots and cigarette smoke, and reeking of stale beer, it had been like going home. I missed those days — the ones before I'd sold out. But all of the atmosphere had been nothing compared to the show on stage.

Jazz didn't just stand on stage — he fucking owned it, and the screaming crowd singing along with him. He and the other guys played off each other, performing from every inch of the generous stage, including the drum riser. Meeting in the middle for harmonies, then each moving out to do their own thing, they'd been in sync the entire time — a symphony of motion that fueled the frenzied audience almost as much as the music did. He'd told Aro that he was just filling in to help out a friend, though from the stage show they put on, you'd have never known it.

Aro had waved me over to a chair across from him, then whipped out his cell phone to call God knows who about fuck all. He just liked that it made him look like he was multi-tasking, too fucking important to give business a rest long enough to find more. The minute his attention waned, Angela had wrapped herself around him, all the while dragging her stilettoed foot up the inside of my calf. Rolling my eyes, I'd endured it for half a song, before I moved to a different chair, straddling it with my arms folded over the back. The rest of the club could have exploded from that point on for all the attention I'd paid to my surroundings. My universe had become centered on the blond god dominating the stage in front of me. By the last song, the little nook Aro had tucked us in was too far away, and I'd made a pretense of joining my bandmates where they stood near the soundboard. Once Tribe had played out their set and the houselights came back up, the screamers had realized who we were. Enveloped by the autograph seekers, I'd tried not to make it obvious I wanted to be anywhere else but where I stood.

Even when I didn't see him right away, I'd known when Jasper had come back out on the club floor. He'd trailed behind Zack, accepting congratulations from Eric and Paul, but I didn't look up. I'd have given everything away if I had. My shoulders had tensed with the effort, though, my entire body aching to seek him out. My back-up limo would help me slip out of Aro's clutches for a few moments of peace..

I'd watched Aro schmoozing Jazz, pouring on his snake oil salesman routine with the intent to woo him to New York and Sun, and tendrils of fear had snaked up my spine. I had to warn him, before it was too late and he became the next notch on Aro's pock-ridden headboard of coerced conquests. Jazz, and Tribe, deserved the chance at a deal, I wouldn't begrudge him that, but he needed to know what it would cost him to get it if Aro did the pushing in his favor. The price was too high, not when his entire life would become a giant lie like mine had.

My focus on Jazz had been broken when a pint-sized brunette clenched my arm, begging me to sign her tits, all the while making lewd comments and promises of sexual favors she'd be more than happy to indulge in with me. The whole routine had turned my stomach. Honestly, given the vapid sluts rampant in the rock scene, it was surprising more musicians weren't gay, if only out of self-preservation from the attention-seeking whores.

The air around me charged again and I looked up to find Jazz staring at me from the entrance to the narrow hallway that led backstage. His eyes were ablaze with heat, desire pouring off of him. I knew that feeling all too well – every cell in your body alive, having fed off the vibes of the cheers and adoration from the crowd. It had always been like that for me, too. It was also what gave Aro the final nail to my coffin, when he'd caught me with a trick I'd picked up after our first show on the tour. The threats of exposure, the potential fallout, and the real possibility of losing our contract had ensured my compliance with Aro's end game. While I'd bristled under his control, I still hadn't garnered the nerve to push the boundaries he'd established — at least, not until Jazz. And I'd have to back away from what I wanted, if only to ensure he didn't end up the same way.

Once I'd broken free of the crowds, I'd found my limo and slipped inside, instructing the driver to pull away from the door. From a safer vantage point, I'd seen Aro corner Paul and Eric to find out where I'd disappeared to, my heart pounding in my chest while I waited to see if he'd buy the cover story I'd fabricated. Pissed, but unable to do a thing about it, what with the lingering fans in the parking lot that would witness his bitch fit, he'd snapped off something to Eric. Then, grasping Angela's upper arm tight enough to make her flinch, he "helped" her to his waiting car. I'd suppressed the urge to chortle over managing my escape, knowing there'd be hell to pay when I returned to the hotel. I just hoped what I'd planned to do would be worth it.

After the parking lot had completely emptied, devoid of anyone who might be able to identify me, I'd instructed the driver to drop me near the stage door, then return out front to wait until I was done. And that was when the quiet vigil I'd observed for the past few hours had begun.

**_*ONA*_**

Tucking myself further between the building and a storage shed, I avoided the bulk of the chill. I couldn't wait much longer, if I were to have any hope of being ready to leave the hotel on time. Not for the first time, I wondered if I'd missed Jazz leaving at some point. Just about to give up, I'd pushed myself upright from my slouch against the wall, when the back door swung open.

Lost in his own thoughts, Jazz didn't see me lurking in the shadows. He whistled under his breath, the tone so low I couldn't decipher what song had captured his focus. With no time left to lose, I strode to the car, grabbing the door frame before he could pull it shut.

"We have to talk."

Even to my own ears, my voice sounded gravelly. The cigarette smoke, incessant talking with fans, and standing in the cold alley had all combined to tense up my vocal cords – or, it might just have been the man who'd slid into the car while I'd watched. Either way, singing would be a fucking bitch the next show. It didn't matter.

"I've been waiting out here for hours." I stepped back when he turned to exit the car, holding onto the door to anchor my flailing thoughts. I had to make him see reason.

"Well, if I'd known you were here, I might have moved a little faster," Jazz replied, stepping close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off his body. My chilled fingers ached to sink into the sunny warmth of his hair, to press into the molten heat that exuded from him.

From there, my mind went blank, my mouth jumping into gear and saying all the wrong things, while I struggled to make him see the reality of the life we chose. Then, at some point the conversation drifted from general to specific, and I fought the urge to tell him the truth — the unvarnished truth — of why he needed to steer clear of Aro and any offer Sun made.

"You don't…," I struggled for the right words, but Jazz interrupted, his anger beyond the point of reason.

"I don't what? I don't understand?" He stood in front of me, screaming into my face, "I understand plenty. I didn't imagine the eye-fucks at the amphitheater, or the ones inside either." I shook my head, trying to deny everything he said, while what was left of my soul died a little more with each lying movement. Yet the whole time he spoke, my eyes focused on the lush fullness of his lips, the silken gleam of his hair, the fiery passion that simmered in his green eyes. "You want this too, Edward. You want it just as much as I do. I'm not a fucking toy, though. You can deny it all you want to yourself, but deny it while remembering this."

Jazz grabbed my jacket, jerking me to him, while his mouth slanted over mine, his lips tasting, devouring, while they bruised and punished, too. Surrendering to his onslaught, I groaned, and he took advantage of the opening, his tongue slipping between my parted lips to plunder my mouth with reckless abandon. I gave as good as I got, my tongue tangling with his, the tang of the beer he'd been drinking filling my senses, but unable to mask the potent explosion of him on my lips.

He pushed against me until my ass rested against his car, my stance widening to accommodate the intrusion of his thigh between my legs. I responded to the roll of his hips, growling into his throat at the sensations of our bodies colliding against one another. Lithe fingers tangled in my hair, twisted in the bandana I'd substituted for a belt, aligning us from mouth to hips. Needing to stabilize my quaking body, and reassure myself that he was real, I grabbed his hips. My fingers worked their way under his shirt to stroke across his heated flesh; they fit perfectly into the dimpled divots above his low slung jeans.

Breathing through my nose, I nipped at his full bottom lip to suck it between my own, only to clamp down when Jazz's hand slid down my stomach to cup the throbbing bulge of my needy cock. My fingers slid under his waistband, looking for the minutest bit of room in a desperate bid to grip the delicious swell of his ass. All thoughts of everything but him fled. My past, present, and future centered on taking everything he had to give, and pouring all I could back into him.

Until…

A wailing whistle broke through my lust-ridden haze, dragging me back from the edge of the cliff that hovered over oblivion. Where the fuck was my brain? I shoved against him, needing the distance to pull my head back together. The realization that I'd almost risked everything for some unknown entity pissed me off. I slammed my hand into the car behind me, wincing at the feeling of the bones shifting from the impact.

"Motherfuck —" the rest of my words were lost in a haze of pain — pain I welcomed to clear my head. Furious at my stupidity, I glared when Jazz tried to step closer. My mind and body warred, one desperate to have him, the other terrified of the consequences of surrender. No matter which option I picked, I'd lose in the end, so I opted for the choice that would leave me with something to show for my sacrifice. I backed away, sliding the length of the car to get away from the sweetest temptation I'd ever had to resist.

"No!" My body shook, fighting off the rising bile in my throat, refusing to throw up in front of him. I couldn't reveal another weakness to him. "I'm not doing this. You're not worth risking it all, Jazz; no one is." Taking two halting backward steps away from him, I'd turned and ran toward the waiting limo at the front of the club. Through the pounding rush of blood in my ears, I heard Jasper yelling after me, the end of his rant breaking through as I dove into the open door of the limo.

"You can't escape who you are, no matter how much you want to ignore it. Every time you try, I'll be there, haunting you, reminding you what a fucking pathetic life you chose!"

With a broken sob, I ordered the driver to get me the fuck out of there, then closed the partition to hide the panic attack that over took me. I didn't doubt Jazz's words, not for a fucking minute. I already regretted it all — every compromise I'd made that subjugated my dreams to the whims of a tyrannical despot. Crumpling to the floor of the car, I curled inward, knowing I'd created the hell I lived in, and there was no way out.


	9. Chapter 7

_**I woke up this morning with no intentions of working on this chapter. I only had about 600 words done on it, but I needed to spend the day working on school. Round about two this afternoon, a song came on the radio and the rest of the chapter suddenly took shape in my mind. My reduced grade is your bonus. Enjoy. **_

_**Much love and thanks to the eyes that make this readable for you all – my beta nails233, and pre-readers rathbonejunkie and AtHomeJo.**_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 7<strong>

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

Three hours and a large loaded pizza later, Jake and I had fleshed out a new song, while reviewing the set list from the night before. Leah popped into the garage when she heard us playing, and we sought her input on the crowd's reactions. Once we'd worked out a tight set for New York, Jake and I dicked around with our guitars, while talking about the guys from his band.

Jake, Colin, and Lucas had been the core of Tribe since they'd formed four years earlier. Unfortunately, they'd had several singers revolve through the band, all too stupid to realize they'd locked onto a good thing if they could keep their shit together. Colin and I had gone to school together, but ran with different crowds back then. He was Leah's cousin; it'd been only natural Jake would ask him to join the group. Colin had brought Lucas with him. Before Tribe, they'd been doing the garage band thing, but nothing ever panned out.

Colin and Jake could have been brothers, they were so much alike. Both had the same drive and determination to go after something more. They even bore a striking resemblance to each other, though Jake's hair hung past his shoulders and Colin kept his cut in a short fauxhawk. While both played guitar, Colin's skills as a bassist were incomparable. His ability to tie down the low end, while still doubling up on some of the more complex riffs put him on par with some of the best in the business. More than once, he'd provided me with just the right hook I needed to tie together one of my own songs. We were pretty sure he'd be a lock.

Lucas was an odd fish. He and Colin had been friends since middle school, and had drifted in and out of numerous garage bands before Colin dragged him along for the ride with Tribe. I'd never understood their friendship. Introverted to the point of rudeness, Lucas hid behind a mop of dishwater blond hair that looked like it needed an oil change most of the time. The only time he ever came alive was when he played. The boy had a serious kit, damn well knew how to use it, but I never got the feeling that he wanted to stick with music for the long haul. Damn shame, too. Lucas had been playing drums since he could stand up, and could beat skins with enough talent to make John Bonham weep. Jake and I figured we'd make the offer to him, but neither of us held our breath that he'd want to come along for the ride. We picked through a few other guys we knew who might be able to take his place, narrowing it down to two - Emmett McCarty from _Pentagon_, and Seth Clearwater.

The first time I'd met Emmett, he'd intimidated the shit out of me. Standing nearly six and a half feet tall, built like a brick shithouse, and covered in tattoos, he looked like the last thing you'd want to run into in a dark alley. At heart, though, the guy was a big clown. He loved to pull practical jokes, and was indiscriminate about his targets. The night he TPed Marty's car, I figured he was either the bravest motherfucker in the world, or the stupidest one. Either way, we'd become sort of friends over the few years I'd known him.

Seth was Leah's kid brother, though he could have passed for her twin. They had the same long black hair, russet complexion, and piercing dark brown eyes that missed nothing. He'd sat in with us on a few jam sessions, picking shit up pretty fucking quick. Not only did he play drums, but he was fairly talented on keys, too. He'd only been sixteen when Tribe first formed, too young to play in the clubs, otherwise, he would've been playing with Jake a long time ago. Leah walked back out in the garage while we were talking about her brother, and made a suggestion neither Jake nor I had considered.

"You know, while Tribe never had a use for a keyboardist, you guys are gonna need one with Jazz's stuff." Lifting an inquisitive eyebrow, I waited for Leah to continue. "There's no way you can be everywhere at once. Laying it all down on tracks is one thing, but you aren't going to be able to pull off lead vocals, lead guitar, and keyboards all at one time. You're good, Jazz, but you're not a magician."

Nodding in agreement, I looked to Jake for comfirmation.

"Looks like we're gonna be calling Seth either way, then. You think he'll be interested?" Jake asked, peering up at his wife.

"I can't imagine any reason why he wouldn't be, and it's a good opportunity for him. Seth's a smart kid, but Mom and Dad can't afford college. This might be his only shot to make something of himself." Moving to stand behind her husband, Leah turned her attention my way, and asked, "What about the other thing, Jazz?"

She leaned on Jake's shoulder, reaching over to strum a couple chords on his axe. I hid a smile at the sight. Damn, they were so good together. While they may not have had the best of starts, they had built a decent life for themselves. What gave me the right to dick that up?

"I don't know, Lee . . . It might not hurt to just not bring it up." I fiddled with tuning my guitar, avoiding the piercing glare she leveled on me. Seeing her hand move out of the corner of my eye, I winced, even before I felt the smarting sting of her slap across the back of my head.

"I'm obviously missing something here," Jake said, grabbing Leah's hand when she pulled back. Placing a kiss on her palm, he held on and continued. "What other thing, Jazz? And don't bother trying to wiggle out of it, 'cause I'll let her go for a second shot."

'Dude, really?" I huffed, then set my guitar to the side. "It's just - Leah thinks I should tell the band I'm gay, that I shouldn't hide it anymore."

Jake stared at me, saying nothing. I writhed internally under the weight of his gaze, wondering what he was thinking, but afraid to ask. The silence stretched on for a several long seconds, only to be broken by the sound of Emily calling from inside the house. Shooting me a hard look, coupled with an exasperated sigh of my name, Leah excused herself to go check on the little girl. Uncomfortable with the heavy silence that had descended on the garage; I stood and walked over to the keyboards, my fingers wandering over the ivory-colored keys in frustration.

"And . . .?"

"And what?" I shot back. "Come on, Jake. You know as well as I do, that shit ain't gonna fly. It's no big deal."

"Yeah, dude, it kind of is a big deal." Fretting a chord, Jake plucked a couple notes. "Look, a band ain't no different than a team. Everyone has to have their head in the game if they stand any chance of winning." He adjusted his tuning then hit the chord again. Satisfied, he met my eyes. "Wouldn't it be better to have it all out in the open ahead of time, rather than spring it on them late? Or, worse yet, have some tabloid get a hold of it a few years down the road, when we're riding high? Keeping your true self hidden is a recipe for disaster, all the way around."

I opened my mouth to interject, but was stunned quiet by his next words.

"Besides, why the hell should you have to lie about who you are? That's no kind of life, and you know it." Jake stood and leaned his guitar against his amp. "I'm gonna go make some phone calls, get the guys over here. We gotta band to build."

Picking out a melody on the keys, I mused over everything Leah and Jake had said. In my gut, I know my friends were right. It had been one thing to be open with them. Hell, even coming clean with my parents hadn't been the hell it could have been. I'd certainly heard worse horror stories than being tossed out at eighteen. But, if I were completely honest with myself a certain amount of fear clouded my choices when faced with coming out, not only to my band mates, but the public in general. I'd lived under the radar for years; I'd never tried to hide my sexuality outright, just allowed discretion to dictate my actions. Then I thought of Edward. Did I want to be like him? Afraid of my own fucking shadow, desperate to break free, but terrified to do it? I knew the answer without wasting any more energy thinking about it.

"I reached all the guys; they should be here in about an hour. I didn't tell them what it was about, just that we wanted to go over some shit after last night." Jake caught my eye and tossed me a bottle of water. "You made a decision."

It wasn't a question. Jake knew me well enough to read my body language.

With steely determination, I answered, "Yeah. but we're doing it my way."

"Don't we always?" Jake grinned.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

Setting aside the angst of the coming revelation, I worked with Jake on tightening up the chord progressions on one of the songs that had missed the demo cut. I'd scrapped it at the time because something in it didn't feel right. Even still, with Jake's new input, I knew it needed . . . more, but fuck if I knew what. We were still dicking around with it when Seth wandered into the garage from the driveway forty minutes later. With a casual jerk of his head in greeting, he jumped on the keyboard, picking up the melody and adding a few flourishes of his own. Nodding, a satisfied smirk lifting the corner of my mouth, I started the run again. Jake switched to his bass to give us a bottom, and together we worked through a full progression. With the final chord resonating in the garage, Seth let out a low whistle.

"One of yours, dude?" he asked, shoving his hair off his face while accepting the bottle of water Jake tossed his way.

"Yeah. It still needs something, but the keys may be the ticket. Maybe we can run it again later, when the other guys get here." Absentmindedly, I pulled at the frayed threads on the torn knee of my jeans.

"So, bro - you called, I'm here. What's the deal? Lucas flaking out again?" Seth's fingers continued to flit over the keyboard, picking out small melodies from a variety of songs. Damn, the kid was good.

"Nah - well, not exactly. Just being preemptive." Jake was interrupted by Emily bursting into the garage.

"Uncle Sefh!" she lisped over her uncle's name, exploding in giggles when Seth caught her and tossed her in the air, before he held her close to smother her with kisses.

"Hey, squirt!" Emily giggled and wriggled in his arms, planting a sloppy kiss on his check, before letting him set her down. He turned his attention back to his brother-in-law. "You were saying?"

The other guys should be here soon. Jazz and I will explain then, so we only have to do it once."

"Fair enough. Let me pop inside and say hey to my sister real quick."

While he was gone, I made good on my promise to Emily. Maneuvering the little girl in between my knees, I stood her in front of me and held my guitar so she could see it. I positioned her fingers on the frets, her pinkie on the high E, ring finger on B - a simple G chord, and one of the few her little hands would be able to learn yet. Then, I pulled the pick out from under the strings on the head and handed it to her, guiding her in strumming out the chord. Once she had the hang of it, I repositioned her fingers to the D chord, letting her strum again once they were in place. Patiently, I worked her back and forth between the two chords, teaching her to play a simple melody. Emily watched with studied determination, her tongue captured between her teeth while she concentrated on making sure she placed her fingers right on the frets. Engrossed in our lesson, neither of us heard the door open, nor registered the reappearance of her uncle and mother until a small burst of applause filled the air when she finished. Colin and Lucas entered the garage at the same time, adding their own praise to everyone else's. Emily grinned and blushed, ducking her head to focus on the guitar again.

Catching Jake's glance, Leah nodded, and called Emily to her. The little girl placed a kiss on my check, whispering, "Thanks, Uncle J," in my ear, and then paused to hug her father, before skipping across the concrete floor to join her mother to go back inside. The other guys bustled around; Colin unpacking his bass and hooking up to his amp, while Lucas settled behind the practice kit Jake kept in the garage. Jake cleared his throat, bringing the activity to a standstill and drawing everyone's attention his direction.

"So, you guys know how unreliable Quinn's been lately. He's missed more gigs than he's shown up for, bailing on practices and shit." Everyone nodded in agreement. "Well, after last night, Jazz and I decided to join forces. We already write and compose most of the songs together, anyway - just makes sense that we should be playing in the same band."

The others all voiced their agreement with the decision, relieving one of the stressors I'd worried about. The next wouldn't be quite so easy. Gripping my guitar like a security blanket, I shifted on the stool I'd been sitting on, then looked around the room. Seth still tinkered with the keyboard, albeit with the sound turned down, Colin leaned against the far wall by Jake's toolbox, and Lucas sat behind the drums, twirling a stick in his hand, with an expectant look on his face. Jake nodded, giving me the floor.

"If we're going to do this, there's something I need to get out in the open from the start," I began, a trickle of sweat sending an icy chill down my spine. "I'm gay."

After the wooden clatter of Lucas' stick hitting the ground faded, the ensuing silence that filled the garage was deafening.

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

The pregnant silence was broken by a loud snort from Seth.

"Well, hell. That finally explains why you haven't gotten your dick wet with Alice."

Seth ducked the towel Jake threw at him, popping back up with a smug smirk.

"Common fucking sense explains why no one wants to dip their wick in Alice, cuz," Colin replied, then offered me a thumb's up. "Dude, who you fuck is your business. I'm here for the music."

I let loose the breath I'd been holding.

"Well, I'm not cool with it." Lucas muttered. Using the drum stool for leverage, he shoved himself to his feet and worked his way from behind the kit. "That shit ain't natural, and I'm not sticking around."

Colin stared at his best friend like he'd grown two heads. "Are you kidding me, Luc? It's fucking 2012; get your head out of your ass."

"I don't give a fuck what year it is; I ain't ever gonna support two faggots getting it on." Sneering, he pointed in my direction. "You guys want to ride the bone pony with _him_, go right ahead. I'm outta of here."

He left without another word, Colin hot on his heels. From the open garage door, I could see Colin jerk his friend up short, followed by a heated argument. Lucas waved his hands vehemently to punctuate whatever he was saying. Glaring back at me, he shoved Colin away and stormed off to his truck. I shook my head. It was exactly what I'd feared.

I turned away from the spectacle in the front yard when Jake spoke, "Looks like I made the right choice when I went ahead and called Mac. He should be here in a couple of hours; he's gotta finish up his shift at the shop."

Seth fired off a couple questions about Emmett, wanting to know where he'd fit in if the other drummer took us up on our offer. While Jake filled him in on the particulars of the band's set up in either scenario, I tried to muster a modicum of emotion over Lucas' reaction. Finding none, I realized it didn't matter. What the rest of the world had to say held way less importance to me than the opinions of the five people who had accepted me. Satisfied with that observation, I tuned out everything until I felt Colin's hand came down heavy on my shoulder.

"Jazz, man, I'm fucking sorry."

I shrugged. "It's not your apology to make. Besides, my own father has said worse. Better we know now, rather than later when it could really hurt the band."

"True facts. So, I'm guessing there's a reason why this needed to come out now? Maybe something to do with your talk with the suits last night?"

Since we essentially had a band, even without Mac, I decided to spill the rest of my announcement to Colin and Seth, "Yeah." I grinned. "You bet your ass it does. How do you feel about playing in New York City?"

**o.O.o.O.o.O.o**

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><p><em><strong>Set List for this Chapter:<br>**_

_**Remember My Name by House of Lords  
><strong>_

_**I Stand Alone by Jackyl  
><strong>_

_**Get the Funk Out by Extreme  
><strong>_

_**Somewhere I Belong by Linkin Park  
><strong>_

_**As I've said repeatedly in the past, I make no promises on an update schedule. I do the best I can with the time I have available. I appreciate every single one of you who still hangs around for the updates, leaving reviews and love, and am grateful that new readers are willing to jump on board a WIP with a shaky schedule. Thank you all. **_


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